


Walked it Off (Fuck you, Captain America)

by trombonistnicole



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awesome Wanda Maximoff, Brief surgery scene, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier is a Therapist, Charles's disappointed face, Cheating, Cuddling & Snuggling, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Father, Erik is a Sweetheart, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Google translate sucks I'm sorry, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Peter and Raven's relationship is fascinating, Peter is a Little Shit, Pietro Maximoff Feels, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Pre-Slash, Protective Erik, Raven doesn't have time for Peter's shit, Self-Acceptance, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Seriously I write this in weird places at weird hours, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 35,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trombonistnicole/pseuds/trombonistnicole
Summary: Pietro Maximoff joined the X-Men under the name Peter following the Battle of Sokovia.





	1. What he told Xavier

**Author's Note:**

> Explanations on Pietro's physical changes at the end.
> 
> In this story, X-Men Peter is the same person as Avengers Pietro. After the Battle of Sokovia, Peter got an apartment, which is where he was living in Days of Future Past. His mom isn't there, and neither is his sister. There were only 2 years between DOFP and Apocalypse (so it's set about 2 years after AOU). So I guess Nina was only a baby, but that's not a huge concern of mine.  
> The mother he lost in Sokovia was his biological mother, but his father was not. He knows that Erik is his father based on stories his mom told as well as a picture she gave him. He didn't immediately put it together in DOFP, but he did in between the two movies.  
> As for the Auschwitz thing, well, I'll cross that bridge if/when I come to it. DOFP happened in 2014 in this story.
> 
> The title is a reference to the speech Captain America gave at the beginning of the Battle of Sokovia.

    Pietro was fine.

    Totally fine.

    Yeah, he went by Peter now, but that was fine.

    Yeah, he looked… different, but that didn't really bother him.

    Unless someone he knew before saw him.

    As far as the rest of the team was concerned, his entire life story was, “Hi, I'm a loser and I have super speed, the end.”

    He was pretty OK with that.

     _Better than the truth._

 

    He, Jean, Kurt, and Scott were lifting weights under Raven's watch. Whenever Raven walked past, he actually lifted, trying his best not to wince. There was shit in his chest that pressed up against his muscles, making such exercises excruciating. I mean, she was going to notice sooner or later that he was never making any progress.

    She hovered over him longer than usual. After a couple more lifts, he dropped the weights, completely spent.

    “Why aren't you making progress?” she demanded. “Don't think I haven't noticed.”

    He sighed. “I don't want to talk about it.”

    She grabbed his shoulder. “I'm not going to let you just slack off. I know you've done it your whole life, but this is serious.”

    “Leave it,” he growled.

    She scowled at him. “Peter, if you think I'm willing to put up with your crap, you are _gravely_ mistaken.”

   “Fine. Then don't.” He pulled away from her and ran away.

 

     ~~Pietro~~ Peter lied down on the lawn, draping his arm over his eyes.

_This is getting harder every day._

    He had never been a good liar. That was Wanda's thing. He usually punched his way-

    Wait, no, not punched. He wasn't very good at punching. Probably more of a “run away” kind of guy now.

    So, simultaneously trying to make friends and keep his past quiet was difficult.

    Ororo approached him. “Hey, Peter.” She sat down on the grass next to him. “You look like shit.”

    He took his arm off of his face. “Thanks.”

    Ororo smirked. “Mystique’s pretty pissed at you.”

    He raised his eyebrows. “Where'd you hear that?”

    “Hank mentioned it. In nicer words, of course. What'd you do?”

    “Walked out on her training session.” Peter rolled his eyes as he said it.

    Ororo glared at him. “Whole story, please.”

    “I was being a little shit and slacking off, she noticed and yelled at me, then I left.”

    Ororo looked incredulous. “Still not the whole story.”

    “Yes, it is.”

    “You're not just randomly a little sh- OK, yes, you are, but you're not normally a slacker.” She paused. “Explain.”

    “I fucking suck at lifting weights.”

    She rolled her eyes. “You know, you _can_ start small with weights. Or find alternate means of training.”

    “Yeah, but she wants me to lift weights specifically. I'm fine with training other ways.” He groaned. _My chest hurts._

Wait.

    He could _remove_ the bullets.

     _I can just do it away from the school, stumble back, and then I'm good._

“Peter, where are you going?”

    “I'm hungry,” he replied.

     She rolled her eyes as he walked away.

     Peter walked into the kitchen. Jean was sitting at the counter, drinking orange juice. “Hey,” she greeted.

    “Hey,” he muttered distractedly.

     _Shit._

“Peter, what are you planning?” she asked, turning to look at him with her newly suspicious gaze. “Your mind is plotting.”

    “N-nothing,” he lied. He switched into superspeed mode, walked over to the locked knife drawer, picked the lock, picked out a serrated (that best cuts skin, right?) knife, re-did the lock, and walked away.

 

    Xavier rolled into the kitchen.

   Jean turned toward him. “Peter's up to something,” she announced.

    “When is he not?”

    She shook her head. “This isn't some prank, professor. Something _significant._ ”

    “Should I attempt to contact him?”

    She frowned. “I think he's still in superspeed mode. You'll just get a headache.”

    “That doesn't matter, Jean. I can handle a headache. If there's something wrong, I _need_ to know.”

    Ororo entered the room. “Peter was talking to me about how much he hates lifting weights and then he went to get food, but I can't find him.”

    “He never got food. He came in here, got _something_ , I don't know what because he was gone before I could perceive anything, and then left,” Jean informed her.

    Xavier rolled around the kitchen and lifted the lock on the knife drawer. “I believe he accessed the knife drawer and took-” he un-did the lock, “-one of the serrated knives.” Replacing the lock, he turned to the girls. “This is quite concerning. I'm going down to Cerebrum.”

    Both girls followed him to the newly built machine.

 

     ~~Pietro~~ Peter sat down on a tree root in the nearby forest. He felt around for the first bullet. He had already removed the ones in his arms, but this would be a little trickier.

    Slicing into his skin, he stuck his fingers inside the wound and pulled out the bullet.

    Wow.

    That hurt a _lot_ more than he remembered.

    “Hello, blood,” he grunted. He picked up a piece of cloth that he had brought and put pressure on the wound. After waiting for a couple of minutes, he began stitching the wound closed.

    Pain pain pain but he can't stop now.

 

    

    Xavier cried out in pain as soon as he found Peter.

    “I told you so,” Jean muttered.

    “No, it's- he's in a lot of pain,” Xavier explained. “He's in the forest right now.”

    Ororo's eyes widened. “Well, let's go find him!”

    Xavier nodded. “Ororo, take Jean and Kurt. Jean should be able to detect him more easily, and Kurt can teleport him back to the school.”

     Ororo nodded, then turned to Jean. “Come on.”

 

    Peter was on the third out of nine bullets. He didn't know how he could possibly get the four in his back, but four could probably be explained away. Thirteen? Probably not. And that wasn't including the seven he’d pulled out of his arms or the two he'd pulled from his face and throat.

    His pale, bare chest was covered in blood and sloppily stitched up wounds. The thread he'd used was black, since that was what he could find, which made the stitches far too obvious.

     _Too much blood too much blood Jesus fucking Christ too much blood_

    It was all he could do to finish stitching up the wound before he lost consciousness.

 

    Kurt was the first to find Peter. He saw his friend limp against a tree in a puddle of his own blood. His chest was stained red and a needle and thread hung off of a freshly stitched wound. A knife was sitting in his lap on top of a white cloth dripping with blood. Three bullets rested next to him on the dirt.

    Kurt let out a scream in horror.

    Jean and Ororo came running. “Oh, God, Peter, what did you do?” Ororo growled, kneeling down next to him. She looked at Kurt. “Quickly! Get him out of here!”

    Kurt and Peter vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving the two girls to clean up.

 

    Kurt arrived in Professor Xavier's office. Hank was waiting with Xavier and immediately rushed forward. Xavier rolled over to Peter as well.

    He looked at Kurt. “Do you know what happened?”

    Kurt shook his head. “We found him like this.”

    “He's not currently bleeding. His stitching job may look bad, but it did get the job done,” Hank told the others. “Until we get a greater sense of what happened, I don't know what I should do.”

    Peter opened his eyes. “Hello,” he greeted, his voice strained.

    

    “A knife, bullets and a piece of bloodied cloth.” Jean looked at Ororo as they walked back towards the school. “Was he trying to… perform surgery on himself?”

    “That would be extraordinarily stupid, even for him,” Ororo muttered.

    “Yes, it would, but you never know with him.”

 

    “What happened?” Hank demanded.

    Peter groaned. “M’going back t’sleep now, kay?”

    Hank was about to protest when Xavier interrupted him.

    “We will discuss this later,” Xavier declared. “Hank, keep an eye on him and monitor his state. I will wait for Jean and Ororo's return. Kurt, go rest.”

    Hank lifted Peter onto a stretcher. Another student helped him carry the stretcher to the medical area.

 

    Ororo and Jean walked into Xavier's office and set down their collected items.

    Xavier leaned forward to look at the objects. “I'm assuming he was shot,” he started. “If he was shot, why didn't he just go to the medical area? Why would he do it himself? Without painkillers, I imagine. He's never been one to deal with pain silently. Remember when he broke his leg? He was _constantly_ whining about that.”

    “That's probably because he couldn't use his powers, not because it hurt.” Jean shrugged. “More importantly, _when_ was he shot, and why was he keeping it from us? For that matter, _how_ was he keeping it from us?”

    Kurt appeared in the office in a puff of smoke. “He's awake.”

    “We can continue this discussion with him.”

 

    “Hey,” Peter greeted when Jean and Xavier entered the room. “What's up?”

    “You tell me,” Xavier replied. “You're the one who attempted to perform surgery on yourself.”

    “Like you've never done that.”

    “I have not done that, Peter. I have not performed surgery on myself.” He studied Peter. “So why did you?”

    “It's none of your business.”

    Xavier sighed. With Peter mostly limp on the bed, machines monitoring his vitals and blood covering his chest, he was starting to think he should read his mind-

    “Stay out of my head!” Peter exclaimed, although Xavier had yet to enter it in the first place.

    “I wasn't-”

    “You were about to!” he shouted. “When you're about to do something mind-y, you make this face. You do it, Jean does it, Wan-” He cut himself off when he realized his mistake. “So keep out!”

    “Who was the third person you were going to list?” Xavier asked gently.

    Pietro Peter’s eyes widened. “Nobody! Just treat my fucking wounds and leave me alone!” He rolled over so that he was facing away from them. Peter winced.

_Painful, but not as painful as the truth._

“I heard that last thought of yours, Peter.” This time it was Jean in his head.

     _“Hopefully you'll never need to use this, but you should learn how, at least,” Wanda whispered._

_Pietro nodded. “Teach me.”_

_“Imagine a wall, an unbreakable wall, in your mind. Imagine it surrounding your consciousness and your thoughts.” She hissed. “It's working. Can you feel it?”_

_“Yes,” he replied. “I feel… alone.”_

_“Then make the walls go away. You don't need them anymore.”_

_They embraced, both in body and mind. A tear rolled down Pietro's cheek as he felt the relief of the reconnection._

    And Peter was blocking off his mind. Silent tears wet his cheeks, but they couldn't get inside his head anymore.

    Xavier turned to Jean, Kurt, and Hank. “Would you mind allowing us to speak in private?”

    The trio quickly obliged.

    “Peter, what's going on? Why and how are you blocking off your mind?”

    “You don’t need to be a telepath to protect yourself,” he replied. “I'm protecting myself.”

    Xavier placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. “You shouldn't feel that you need to protect yourself from us. Whatever you're going through, at least one of us has likely experienced the same thing, or at least something similar.”

    Peter flipped over to look at him. “Have you, though?” He shook his head. “But I'm not going to let you psychoanalyze me.” He turned back over. “Professor, you don't need this garbage. Go back to what you're best at: teaching. I don't need or want a therapy session, let alone with _you._ ”

    Xavier bit his lip, hurt. “Peter, I'm not going to let you go through this alone.”

    Peter flipped back over. “Don't you see? I've _already_ gone through this! I'm already over it!”

    Xavier shook his head. “You're clearly _not_ over this, Peter. Your behavior makes that abundantly clear. But we can _help_ you get over it for good. You needn't push it down anymore.” He paused. “Besides, who taught you how to block off your mind? I can't help but think it was a telepath.”

    “My past is my business and my business alone, Xavier,” Peter replied. “Sorry to disappoint, prof, but I'm not telling you shit. I don't owe you anything.”

    Xavier's expression turned dark. “What about for _letting_ you stay here? I _could_ kick you out.”

    “Oh, yeah, that'll be great for your reputation. _19-year-old boy turned homeless after professor removes him for defending his mind.”_

    “Then go back to your mom's basement!” he shouted.

    “That was a lie! My mom doesn't have a basement to go home to! I don't have a _mom_ to go home to!” Peter glared at him. “Do you _really_ think you know me? You don't know _anything_ about me!”

    Xavier inhaled sharply. “Peter, I'm going to say this _once._ This is a school. For children. Children with powers that I cannot put at risk because you're too proud to accept help or too distrustful to admit who you are!”

    Peter shook his head. “What happened to me, you guys will never treat me the same. You'll feel _sorry_ for me. You'll try to take care of me when I don't need it. I've taken care of myself my whole life. I'll tell you this much: being on the streets was better then moving from one rapist family to another. You think I got good at stealing ‘cause I felt like it?”

    Xavier put his hand on Peter's tear-streaked cheek. “Please, just tell me. You don't have to go through this alone.”

    “This never leaves this room. And turn off the camera.”

    Xavier obliged. “Tell me what's wrong,” he requested.

    “I'm not from America. I am born and raised in Sokovia. Don't you dare fucking interrupt me about my accent. My parents die in a bombing and put me and Wanda in an orphanage. But the orphanage sucks and there aren't enough space for all the kids, so they put us with families. But all the families that volunteered just want kids to put their disgusting hands on. So we run away. I barely graduate from high school with an extra year because I am always working and stealing. When it gets bad, she gets sick, maybe I find a couple hundred dollars.” At his blank stare, Peter added, “I was a fucking prostitute, Xavier.”

   Xavier's eyes widened in horror.

   “Yeah, see, you're pitying me. Anyway, Wanda and I volunteer for some experiments they say will give us superpowers. They do unspeakable things to us. And they do. We get superpowers. She gets telekinesis and telepathy and I get superspeed. Then that whole Ultron disaster happens. I take 22 bullets in Sokovia to save Hawkeye and some kid. They think I'm dead. I wake up in America, already buried in a coffin. I dig out the bullets in my throat and face. When I redevelop my voice, I'm in America, so I get an American accent. I change my name to Peter because it's easier for me to pronounce now. My name used to be Pietro. When you come to my door, I've just established my life. I get near normalcy between when I broke Magneto out of the Pentagon and the Apocalypse incident. I never got the bullets out of my chest, but I got seven out of my arms. Now I'm here, trying to get out the stupid bullets by myself because nobody can know, nobody can know what happened to me. Except I'm stupid and messed up so I had to tell you and now you're going to treat me differently because you think I'm vulnerable and I can't convince you otherwise because you've seen me cry and now you're looking at me like that and I'm rambling and I'm scared as fuck because-”

    He drifted off when Xavier reached over and squeezed his hand. “You're safe here,” Xavier reminded him. “You're one of the strongest people I've ever met because, despite everything that's happened to you, you can still make jokes, you can still laugh at yourself.”

    “Of course I can laugh at myself! Look at me! I'm a walking joke!”

    Xavier furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about, Peter?”

    “I'm skinny, I'm pale, I've got weird silver hair and a weird face. If anyone that knew me before the… before the accident, they wouldn't recognize me. There is literally nothing similar in appearance between me before and me now.” He sighed. “Professor, I know you don't have time for my vain garbage, but I used to be hot!”

    “Peter, I'm sorry for what you went through, but you are no less of a person because of it. We both know that your appearance isn't your primary concern, and I doubt that it ever was. Everyone here likes you for your personality.” He stroked Peter's shoulder. “Do you want me to call you Pietro?”

    Peter shook his head. “Pietro’s the guy who went into the coffin. Peter's the guy who came out. I'm not the same person I used to be.” He smirked. “The only good thing that came out of it is that the trauma made me faster. Those bullets wouldn't be a problem now.”

    “Isn't that enough?”

    Peter sighed. “Yeah, whatever.” His face turned serious. “This stays between us, ‘kay?”

    “Of course, Peter.”

    

    Peter was fine.

    He wasn't Pietro anymore. Pietro died in the Battle of Sokovia.

    His friends still didn't know his history, but they treated him… differently. Nicer. And he felt a little bit of Pietro coming back as he spent time with them, treating them as equals, none of that old contempt. They didn't deserve his contempt. And he didn't need his defense mechanisms anymore.

    He wasn't secretly bothered by his appearance. He wasn't as proud of it as his attitude suggested, but he no longer frowned at mirrors.

    Peter was Peter. Peter Django Maximoff Lehnsherr.

    He threw that last one in for good measure.

    


	2. What he told Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tells Scott a different story about the bullets and Scott makes it weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! This one's a lot shorter, but next chapter will be some Dadneto action.  
> Enjoy!

    When Scott entered Peter's room, he was already half asleep.

    “What the fuck are you doing here, Summers?” Peter asked.

    Scott sat down on the chair next to his bed. “What a greeting. How do you still have friends, exactly?”

    “‘Cause I have something you don't: confidence,” Peter replied. “And a sense of humor. And I will  _ definitely  _ be using that sense of humor on you. The second I'm outta here, man…”

    Scott reached over and pulled the sheet down to look at Peter's chest. At some point, someone had fixed the stitches in a more…  _ sanitary _ way. Most of the blood had been cleaned off of him, but there were still red smudges on his skin. 

    “Storm said you were an idiot and performed surgery on yourself,” Scott remarked, running his hand over Peter's chest.

    “Hey, Summers, look, but don't touch. Jesus. Also, you've never done that? God, it's like people just don't get shot anymore.”

    “No! God no! Why the hell didn't you just go to the hospital?” Scott did not remove his hand, opting to massage Peter's chest gently.

    “This is really fucking weird, Summers,” Peter muttered, but didn't make any motion to move Scott's hand. “But anyway, I didn't go to the hospital because that would've been awkward. Dude, those bullets have been in there for, like, two years.”

    Scott moved his hand to rest on top of Peter's. “Why didn't you go to the hospital two years ago? And when did you get shot? I thought you could outrun bullets.”

    “I'm faster now. And I didn't like hospitals. Actually, I  _ don't _ like hospitals, even now.”

    “Y’know, Raven'll probably forgive you if you tell her what's going on. That you had bullets in your chest, I mean.”

    Peter shrugged. “She'll forgive me sooner or later. It's not my primary concern. I need to get out the rest of these bullets. I've still got, like, ten in my chest.”

    “Jesus Christ! How many did you have to begin with?” Scott demanded.

    “Count with me, Scott. So, I had nine in my chest, four in my back, which makes thirteen, plus seven in my arms, which makes twenty, plus two in other places.” Peter stared Scott in the eyes. “And if you pity me, I'll break your fucking neck.”

    “OK, no pity. No pity. Got it. But, how did you get shot, exactly? And how did nobody notice?”

_ Shit. I've backed myself into a corner. _

__ “It's a long story, Scoot.”

    Scott rolled his eyes. “Just tell me Pete- wait, did you just call me Scoot?”

    “Yep, you're Scoot, because you need to scoot away from me before this gets weird,” Peter joked. “But, seriously, I got shot when I took a trip to Europe. I didn't have any of my information, so I couldn't go to the hospital. So I almost bled out. But I'm fine now.”

    “Why were you in Europe?”

    “Another long story, involving a girl, some lame adults, and a shootout that I kind of lost.”

    Scott raised his eyebrows. “Now you've made me curious.”

    “God fucking damn it, Summers! Just go mildly sexually harass Jean or whatever.”

    Scott rolled his eyes. “They don't want you to be left alone. They don't want you to remove any more bullets for now.”

    “Well, I'm going to sleep, so don't do anything creepy while I'm out, kay?” Peter turned away from Scott, winced in pain and flipped onto his back again.

    Scott planted a chaste kiss on Peter's forehead when he left.


	3. What he didn't tell Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a nice awkward chat with his daddy.

_ Erik returned. _

_     Erik is here. At the school. In my hospital room. _

_     Hi, I'm your son. _

__ He was totally going to tell him.

    Erik was mostly just ignoring Peter. He was reading a book. Apparently he was one of those people who underlined things as they read, because there was a pencil tucked behind his ear that he would occasionally take out to use on aforementioned book. He was reading something in German-  _ Simplicius Simplicissimus.  _ Peter remembered reading that in school, translated into Russian. He didn't understand it, but that wasn't exactly a shocker. 

    “Whatcha reading?” he asked, trying to fill up the silence.

    Erik wordlessly lifted the cover so it was easier for Peter to read.

    Jesus. That was cold.

    “Uh… what's it about?” Peter asked uncomfortably. 

    “A man named Simplicius Simplicissimus,” Erik replied. He looked about as uncomfortable as Peter felt.

    “That's a stupid name,” Peter muttered.

    Erik shrugged.

    Peter was tempted to yell something stupid, like ‘Help! I'm trapped in a room with a psychopath who's trying to bore me to death by reading and ignoring me!’ He decided against it.

    “You seem tense,” Erik commented.

    “I'm bored.”

    Erik raised his eyebrows. “Do you want a book?”

    Peter grimaced. “I'm not great at reading,” he admitted.  _ Because English isn't my first language.  _ “I don't have the patience for it,” he lied. He actually enjoyed reading. Granted, most of his reading was of a lower reading level, but he still liked it. But not in English. Reading in English was fucking impossible.

    Erik shrugged and returned to his book.

    Now, Peter  _ definitely _ wanted to spend time with his dad. But not like this. This was straight up awkward. Not the best third(?) impression. 

_ Charles! _

_ Ow,  _ came the reply.  _ What is it? _

_     Can you come hang out with me?  _ he requested.

_ Why? Who's there? _

_     Erik. _

_     I thought you  _ wanted  _ to spend time with Erik. Do you not?  _ Charles asked.

_ Well, I _ do,  _ but he's reading and ignoring me and it's really uncomfortable. _

_     Do you want a book? _

_     See, Erik said the same thing. But reading is hard for me. English is hard. _

_    English is not your first language? I am very impressed, Peter. You speak as though it is. _

_     I can speak English just as well as I can speak Russian. But I can't  _ read  _ English as well,  _ Peter explained.

_ We  _ do  _ have literature in Russian, Peter. _

_     Well, I don't want to explain to people why I’m reading in Russian,  _ Peter whined.  _ Then they'd ask all sorts of personal questions, like, ‘why do you know Russian? Why are you  _ reading  _ in Russian? When did you get any character depth whatsoever?’ _

_     You've always had character depth,  _ Charles chuckled.  _ But it's up to you. _

_ I'm gonna try to talk to Erik again. I'll talk to you later. _

_     Very well. _

    Peter experienced the strange sensation of being alone again, alone in his mind, and he started to remember, started to remember how it felt when he was severed from her.

    He shook himself out of it.

    “Hey, Erik, do you wanna play a board game?” Peter asked.

    “Not really.”

    Peter grimaced a little. “Alright, that's cool. Do you wanna chat?”

    “No.”

    Peter was grasping at straws. “Uh, do you wanna… hey! Do you want to play a card game?”

    Erik sighed. “Something tells me you're not going to leave me alone. Is this true?”

    Peter smirked. “Oh, totally. You can't get away with ignoring me for your entire shift. I'll start doing stuff that you guys don't want me to do. So keep me entertained.” He paused. “Please?”

    Erik exhaled melodramatically. “Fine.”

    “So… what's going on with you and Charles?”

    “I don't catch your meaning,” Erik replied, furrowing his brow.

    “Is he mad at you? Happy to have you around? Reluctant to speak to you? Does he hate you? I'm trying to get a sense of your relationship.”

    “Charles is… so kind and optimistic. I don't think he has the emotional capacity for hatred. He acts as though he's happy to see me, but he's wary. He's keeping my helmet from me and doesn't leave me alone with students. For some reason, he doesn't mind when I'm alone with you, even while you're injured.” Erik inhaled sharply. “It's hard to tell.”

    “It makes sense that he's wary with you,” Peter muttered. “As for leaving you alone with me, well, I'm pretty sure he's more worried about emotional damage than physical, and you couldn't hurt me if you wanted to.” That last part was a lie, but almost nobody called his bluff.

    “I thought you were in here for hurting yourself?”

     Peter shook his head. “Well, technically, yes, but that wasn't the  _ intent _ . Feel my chest, like, with your mind or whatever. See? Metal. I was trying to get rid of it. It's painful. I was trying to keep it quiet, but I should have done it one at a time. Now I'm locked up in the hospital ‘cause I forgot how it worked.”

    Erik's eyebrows shot up. “Why is there metal in your chest?”

    “I got shot.”

    “When, where, why, and why didn't you say anything?”

    “Um, A couple years ago, Europe, I got in an argument, and I wasn't legally allowed to be there so I didn't want to reveal myself.” Peter should really stop making up stories, but it was a little late. Shit.

    “Where in Europe?”

    “Sokovia, which is some little country completely unknown before that Ultron disaster.”

    Erik nodded. “I've  _ been  _ to Sokovia, so I know what it is. It was so beautiful, it's really a shame.”

_ It was not beautiful, you piece of shit. I  _ know  _ you've been to Sokovia, that's where you ditched us.  _ “It's a shame you were locked up. I heard that the entire army was made of metal. You could've kicked their metal asses.”

    “I suppose that's true.”

    Peter sat up with a groan.

    “I have to say, your pain tolerance must be incredible,” Erik commented. “Receiving a wound is painful, but it is infinitely more difficult to manage to give yourself stitches, especially due to the pain of the open wound. I have to say, it was rather foolish of you to do such a thing.”

    “Well, I've done it before, so I figured I could do it again.” Peter held out his arm to show him the scars, both of the bullet wounds as well as the stitches following.

    Erik looked at his arm with a mixture of fascination and horror on his face. “How did this happen?”

    “Fine, I'll tell you. There was this girl I really loved, we were in Sokovia with some friends, there was a shootout, I took some bullets for one of my friends, and I went into a horrible comatose state. They buried me in America. I have no fucking idea where they went. I don't want to see them and I don't want them to see me. It'll be awkward and weird and I'm happy here so don't give me any garbage about staying with your loved ones because they weren't my friends, they were her friends, and, honestly, I kind of hated most of them and I don't want to see them because I'm worried about what they'll do and I don't want to see someone who would bury another without checking if they're alive for sure.” Peter took a deep breath, but he was freaking out and he was scared and alone and it was his fault that they were separated because he's too weak, too scared, too ashamed to go back to his beloved sister and then there are tears, first silent, then uneven breathing and sobs and God he is alone but then Erik is there with his hand on Peter's and Peter has family and he is crying like a baby so his only shot at family is there, judging but it might be a good thing but Peter doesn't know and he's afraid, so afraid and he remembers how strong he used to be and then there's the second wave of sorrow and shame because he's showing weakness after all this time and he knows that he used to be better, stronger, and that he couldn't protect or raise anyone like this and he's just a weak dork but Erik's acting like he cares and then some of the tears are happy but Erik can't tell and Peter just wished that he could tell him but he was scaredanddidntknowwhattodobecauseallhisbraverywentawayandnowhesjustcryinglikeababybuthisdadlovedhimmaybe and then there was Charles, in his mind, embracing him and calming him down.

    “Are you sure you can't get hurt?”

    “Shut up.”

    When Erik left, Peter had definitely  _ not  _ told him, but he counted the encounter as a success.

__


	4. What he didn't tell Jean (but she found out anyway)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro feels with a side of mind-reading!  
> Warning- brief rape scene.

_ Twelve minutes older. _

_     I'm twelve minutes older. _

_     In some ways, it makes sense. I raised her, I sheltered her, I fed and clothed her. She needed me. I needed her, too. She was something to fight for, a reason to keep going, a reason to  _ try.

_     But she doesn't need me anymore.  _

_     Do I need her?  _

__ “Who is she?” Jean asked, interrupting his thoughts.

    “Jesus Christ, Jean! You surprised me!”

    Jean rolled her eyes. “Answer the question.”

    “I thought you weren't going to read my mind.”

    “You were projecting. I  _ could  _ get the answer from your mind, but I'm going to let you answer,” she explained.

    Peter sighed. “Y’know, it is  _ seriously _ none of your business. Do I need to throw up the barriers again? ‘cause I can.”

    “Answer the question,” Jean ordered.

    Peter flipped over so his back was to her and began to think about Scott's creepy behavior.

    “Scott did  _ what _ ?”

    Diversion successful.

    “I don't know. He was getting super handsy. He was, like, massaging my chest and being really nice and stuff. It was way out of character. I think he  _ likes  _ me,” Peter complained. “Erik was aloof with me. It was seriously awkward.”

    Jean sighed. “Scott, yeah, I can see how that would be weird. But Erik? Does it really surprise you that he's acting aloof?”

    “No, but that doesn't make it any less awkward,” he muttered.

    “That's true, I guess. I'm still on Scott's creepiness.”

    “Does Scott like dudes? It's cool if he does, but I'm not into him. I like my partners with tits and no dick.” Jean laughed a little at that. “But, whatever. I'll break it to him later.”

    “Fair enough.”

    They sat in silence for a couple minutes. Jean was obviously trying to get Peter to start thinking again- well, thinking about what she wanted him to think about.

    But Peter wasn't exactly great at controlling his thoughts.

_ I don't need her. _

_     I want her, but it's too late. There's nothing I can do.  _

_     I'm going to die alone, without any family that knows I exist. _

__ “Peter, I'm sure this girl would be glad to see again, see how you've grown. You've matured a lot since you got here.

_ It's all a ruse. I'm  _ less  _ mature. _ “I suppose. But that doesn't mean she'll want anything to do with me.”

    “You two can at least be friends,” Jean offered.

_ That's  _ so  _ much worse. _

__ “How is that worse?”

    “Piss off, Jean, it's none of your business.” Peter scowled at her and flipped over.

_ “This will hurt,” the scientist informed him. “Sorry to break the news.” _

_     A scalpel cut into his chest and blood welled up and pain pain pain… _

_     … he was bare to the world, chained face down to a bed. He couldn't help but think- no, these weren't the streets, they wouldn't- and they did, and even after all the years of abuse, the stretch, the intrusion never stopped hurting and tears reached his eyes but he swallowed it. He'd done this before. Just enjoy it. Just try to enjoy it. Just try. _

_     He felt nothing but shame and pain. _

_     He never did. _

_     And the scientist was whispering things in his ear, that he was nothing more than an experiment, nothing more than a project, and he knew, he knew that the scientist was right but he would be better, he would be stronger and protect and save the broken nation, but- _

_     And he was sitting with Jean, Scott, Ororo, and Kurt, and they were just smiling and laughing on the lawn and Peter knew, he knew that Jean had seen it all. _

__ On Jean's face was an expression of horror. She had felt it all.

    And then came the guilt, that she had to go through even a piece of his past. But then she was stroking his hair, trying to soothe him even when she needed it too.

    “I'm sorry, Peter,” she whispered.

    “My fault,” he replied. “I volunteered.”

    She shook her head. “It's not your fault, Peter.”

    “I'm sorry you had to see that,” he grunted.

    “I'm sorry you had to experience that,” she murmured. “I can't imagine what it would have been like to be in your body. The pain, I only get a piece of it. Seeing that world through your eyes… do you want to talk about it?”

    “Jean, Charles already psychoanalyzed me. He's probably signing me up for therapy as we speak. Lord, I don't want their false understanding.”

    “Just because no one else has gone through that doesn't mean we can't try to help you.” Jean rubbed his scalp. “We're here for you.”

    “Someone else has,” he muttered. “The girl in my thoughts. The only other survivor.”

    “Who is she?”

    “... My sister,” he admitted. “But she doesn't need me anymore. She's… outgrown me. She grew up, I grew down.”

    Jean threaded her fingers through his. “When you're ready to see her again, well, we'll help you find her.”

    “Thanks,” he replied. He felt himself losing consciousness in a Jean-afflicted way. 

    He smiled a little.  _ No dreams tonight. _

__


	5. And he told Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular demand, we've got some more Dadneto with a side of Peter feels (as per forever and always).

    “He likes you,” Peter offered.

    Erik was looking after him again. Peter didn't know why; last time was kind of a disaster. Definitely not a disaster Erik should be blamed for, but a disaster nonetheless. Peter wasn't sure if Erik was forced to be here, or if he was here by choice. He didn't bring a book, which Peter counted as progress in his favor.

    “Who are we talking about?”

    “The Professor, of course. Or, Charles, as you know him,” Peter replied. “He likes you, or he'd kick you out.”

    Erik shook his head. “Charles would never kick anyone out, no matter who it was. He might keep tabs on them at all times, and keep them from anything that could block his mind, but he wouldn't kick them out.”

    “Fair. But he talks about you differently. He thinks, after you recover, and have been here a while, he would want you to teach a subject. He's thinking art.” Peter smirked. “Y’know, art is epic, but you don't really associate  _ Magneto _ with it. Although, I guess that's the point. He really cares about you.”

    “He's a good friend.”

    “Whoa, don't friend-zone him. You never know.” 

_ I should tell him. _

__ “Excuse me?”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “It  _ might  _ not be entirely platonic. But this is just a guess.”

    Erik's change in expression told Peter that he may have hit a sore spot. “I don't know about that.”

    “Ah, well, just talk to him.”

    The two sat in oddly comfortable silence.

    “I'm getting the sense that there's something you want to tell me. Does this relate to the bullets?”

    “No!” Peter answered a little too quickly. “No, it doesn't. Totally different subject.”

    “So you know what I'm talking about.”

_ Yeah, but I'm too scared.  _ “Well, no, but I _ do  _ know that I  _ don't _ want to talk to you about the bullets, so, um, process of elimination.”

    Erik sighed. “You  _ need  _ to talk to someone about the bullets.”

    “I  _ have _ . Xavier.”

    Erik smiled a little. “Did you  _ tell  _ him, or did he take it from your mind?”

_ There's only one person I want in my head.  _ “I don't like having other people in my head.”

    “I get it. So, he was just respecting your privacy and you told him.”

    Peter chuckled. “Hell no. He was threatening to kick me out if I didn't tell him. He didn't want to break past my mental barriers because it would hurt me, but he was definitely willing to.”

    “Your… mental barriers?”

    Peter shrugged. “I know how to make mental barriers. They don't work as well as metal, but they provide some very basic protection. It's nice.”

    Erik furrowed his brow. “Could you… teach me?” he requested.

    “Hell no.”

    “Why?”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “You were a bad guy. Specifically towards Xavier. I'm no angel, but I haven't wronged him.”

   “How are you  _ not  _ an angel, other than your attitude?”

_ I was a prostitute and a thief. I started the Ultron disaster. I joined HYDRA and dragged my sister along. I hurt my sister.  _ No. Scratch that.  _ I  _ killed  _ my sister. We  _ both  _ died that day.  _ “I stole stuff.” He paused. “Plus the attitude.”

    “That doesn't count. I think you're a fine young man.”

_ I'll prove you wrong on accident.  _ “я ненавижу твои кишки ( _ I hate your guts) _ ,” he muttered. “You're too nice to me.”

    “Well then,” Erik scoffed, looking surprised. “Your accent is horrendous, but I'm impressed nonetheless.”

    “Не. Как вы сказали, мой акцент является ужасающим ( _ Don't be. As you said, my accent is terrible) _ .” Peter scowled. How did he end up speaking Russian?  _ What a _ great _ mistake. _

    “Вы гораздо более сложным, чем я дал вам кредит ( _ You are much more complicated than I gave you credit for) _ ,” Erik murmured, smiling.

    “Wow, thanks,” Peter replied. “Y’know, you should just think in a different language. It throws telepaths off their game. Știu câteva limbi, știi  _ (I know several languages, you know) _ .”

    “So you speak Russian, English, and-was that Romanian? Where and why did you learn these languages?”

    “School, it was convenient.” Peter felt the accent he was meant to have returning slightly.

    Erik raised his eyebrows. “I thought you never graduated from high school.”

_ Not here, I didn't.  _ “It's complicated.”

    Erik crossed his arms. “Just how much are you hiding from us?”

_ Everything.  _ “Fine, you want the truth? Remember how you told me that you'd been to Sokovia? Do you remember Magda?” Erik flinched.

    “How do you know-”

    “Нихера не перебивайте меня  _ (Do not fucking interrupt me) _ . She was pregnant when you left. With twins. Fun, right?”

    “Are you telling me that I have more children out there?”

    “Yup. Two of 'em. Who grew up alone. On the streets. 'cause you never went back.” He glared at Erik. “You think Sokovia is beautiful? You never saw the  _ real  _ Sokovia.”

    “... Are you my son?” Erik looked hopeful and horrified at the same time.

    “Yup.”

    “…What…happened to you?” Erik murmured, placing his hand on Peter's cheek.

    “Wait. I just need one thing from you right now. That's all. Ты любишь меня  _ (Do you love me) _ ?”

    Erik nodded.  _ Oh, please don't cry.  _ “Всегда. Я всегда буду любить тебя  _ (Always. I will always love you). _ ” 

_ Oh, he's crying. Oh, he's crying. Jesus Christ. How do I- _

    Erik enveloped him in a hug.  _ I'm getting a hug. I'm getting a hug from my dad. My dad is here. And he loves me. _

__ Soon, both men were in tears.

    “Я люблю тебя, дорогой отец  _ (I love you, dear father), _ ” Peter whispered into Erik's ear.

    “И я тебя, мой дорогой сын  _ (And I love you, dear son). _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know Russian or Romanian, so I just used a translator app. If anyone can correct me on it, please do!


	6. What Erik wanted to tell Charles (but didn't)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little bit of Cherik for my readers!

    “So you told Erik.” Charles studied Peter. It wasn't a question.

    “Yeah.” Peter smirked at him. “Your turn,” he exclaimed in a sing-song voice. “Spill it.”

    Charles raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me? Would you mind clarifying that statement?”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “Tell him how you feel. I'm not blind. I might not be a telepath or a psych student, but my sister was and she taught me how to read people. Whenever I say ‘Erik,’ your pupils dilate. When you're sleepy and someone mentions his name, you smile a little.” He paused. “Would you like me to continue?”

    Charles's mouth twisted in thought. “You know, I never pegged you as that type.”

    Peter snapped his fingers. “ _ Exactly. _ I made myself seem really straightforward. I found and used a stereotype. I never acted secretive. Do you think the best way to hide is by being alone and brooding? No. It's by being simple _. _ Distinctive. Extroverted.”

    Charles nodded. “You are far more intelligent than you seem.” 

    “Thanks? Anyway, it's your turn. Tell Erik how you feel.”

    “And how do I feel, exactly?”

    Peter sighed melodramatically. “You  _ love _ him. In a not-platonic way.” When Charles's eyes widened, Peter added, “Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me. For now.”

    Charles exhaled. “One problem,” he admitted. “I don't want to make things awkward if he does not requite my feelings.”

    Peter laughed. “You really think he doesn't feel the same way? Боже  _ (My God) _ ! You are slow, especially considering that you're a telepath.”

    Charles chuckled. “I'll talk to him about it.”

    “Oh!” Peter exclaimed. “I also wanted to try something.”  _ Вы можете понять меня сейчас  _ (Can you understand me now) _? _

_     Yes, yes I can. I can perceive your meaning whether or not I understand the exact words you are thinking. In fact, it's rather curious to me that you can think in two separate languages without having to translate either in your head. _

_     Я до сих пор должен переводить румынский в моей голове, хотя я почти свободно говорит спикер языка (I still have to translate Romanian in my head, even though I'm almost a fluent speaker in the language). _

_     How curious. Would you mind demonstrating? _

__ “Sunt încă familiar, e doar diferit.”  _ Yet familiar, it's just different.  _

    Charles smiled. “You are an interesting young man. Every time I think that I've figured you out, you find a new way to surprise me. How many more cards do you have up your sleeve?”

_ Superspeed masturbation is the best.  _

_     I did  _ not  _ need to hear that. _

__ “Oh, sorry,” Peter apologized. “I don't know. I've got lots of skills. I can eat, like, 1,000 Skittles in a minute.” He giggled. “Speaking of Skittles, could you get me something yummy? Hank doesn't let me have anything other than his protein shakes. гадость  _ (Yuck). _ ”

Charles smiled. “Very well. But I will not be getting you 1,000 Skittles. I'm not sure it's possible for you to get hyperglycemia, but we will not test it.”

    “Bro, are you kidding? When I first got my powers, I was way slower 'cause I was on a normal diet. I had, like, the worst hypoglycemia in the world. Do you know how easy it is to get sugar in America? Это удивительно  _ (It is amazing). _ ” Peter grinned. “Plus fat. Fat is super important. Do you Americans understand how lucky you are? And the fruit! So many kinds of fruit!”

    Charles chuckled. “It's refreshing to see someone so enthusiastic about life in the United States.” The timer beeped, indicating the end of Charles's shift. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Peter.”

    “You too. Tell him!”

    Charles dipped his head. “I will.”

 

    When Charles entered his office, Erik was seated at the desk. He picked up a syringe filled with clear liquid.

    “I got you a present,” Erik announced. 

    Charles raised his eyebrows. “And what is that?”

    Erik stood up, walked over to Charles, and knelt so that was looking him in the eyes. “I acquired, with permission, of course, the spinal fluid of a mutant with extraordinary healing abilities.”

    “I think I know who you are talking about. What did you do for him?” Charles smirked. “I'm pretty sure he's not the ‘donating’ type.”

    “I made him an engagement ring for his girlfriend. He said that they're already engaged, but he apparently proposed with a ring pop. For some reason, he doesn't think that's good enough.” Erik rolled his eyes. “I made him find his own jewel.”

    “How nice,” Charles replied. “So he traded some spinal fluid for a ring?”

    Erik shrugged. “He can recreate it with ease. In his words, and I quote, ‘Who gives a fuck? Go for it.’”  _ That was an interesting conversation. _

    “Are there risks?”

    Erik scoffed. “I don't think we could hurt that area of your spine any worse. But I did consult with Hank. He said that, while it will hurt like hell, the worst thing that could happen is it not working.” He took Charles's hand. “What do you think?”

    Charles shrugged. “Go for it. I trust you.”

    Erik lifted Charles out of his chair, laid him face down on the floor, and scooted up the layers of clothing covering his back. After a couple of deep breaths, Erik injected the fluid into Charles's scar.

    And then it hit him.

    The worst pins and needles- no, more like knives and razors, stabbing. Tingling was such a nice word for the explosion traveling down his limp legs. Everything was forgotten to the agony of all his nerves waking up from years and years of sleep all at once and he cried, his breaths uneven with dry sobs. He spasmed on the floor, flailing, and Erik climbed on top of him, pinning him down so he didn't hurt himself. But Charles couldn't currently appreciate the effort, so he slapped at Erik, trying to land a blow, and Erik pinned down Charles's left hand by his wristwatch and his right hand with his own right hand, resting his left on the back of Charles's neck. 

    They spent about ten awkward minutes in this position before Charles went limp.  _ Please be OK, if you're hurt I'll die of guilt and grief. _

    Erik climbed off of him and flipped him onto his back. “Charles?” he demanded. “Charles?”

    “Paresthesia,” Charles muttered in reply. “Extreme paresthesia.”

    Erik breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yes… paresthesia.”

    “Paresthesia.” Charles smiled. He was a mess. His face was bumpy from being pressed down into the slightly rough carpet. His eyes were red and he was breathing heavily, each inhale slightly stronger than the one before. His clothes were covered in wrinkles and crooked on his body. There was a slight tear at the end of his blazer’s right sleeve.

    The dilation in the blood vessels in his corneas somehow made his blue irises look even brighter, even more vibrant, and they met Erik's slightly greyer but still blue eyes. There were no sounds except Charles's heavy breathing, and it was perfect but so wrong. Erik had done so much wrong, hurt him so much, Charles could never forgive him, he was sure of it. But he couldn't lean down to kiss those lips red from pressure against the floor, to claim them for his own, couldn't tell him how he felt, how he loved him and wanted him in every way possible.

__ Erik stood up. “I'll call Hank,” he informed Charles. “Ich liebe dich  _ (I love you) _ ,” he whispered, once out of earshot. “Ich werde dich immer lieben  _ (I will always love you). _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My German is shit and fuck accurate science (I have no idea if this stuff works).  
> Paresthesia = pins and needles
> 
> Also, who should interact next? If you have an opinion, let me know!


	7. What Erik told Charles (in German, of course)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter feels. Many Peter feels. All the Peter feels.  
> Among other things, of course.

_ Hank’s removing another bullet today. Four down, five to go. Or, actually, nine to go, if we're counting the ones in my back. He thought it'd be necessary to put me under for it, but anesthetics don't really work on me. He settled for numb on my part. He was also nice enough to get me my earbuds and music so I didn't have to listen to the surgery. _

_     There's something so… disconcerting about another person doing the surgery. About another person cutting into me, putting in the drugs, smiling as they watch me scream- _

_     “-There is no pain, you are receding _ __  
_ A distant ship smoke on the horizon _ __  
_ You are only coming through in waves _ _  
_ __ Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying-”

_     God, this is the _ worst _ song to be listening to during surgery.  _

_ “-Just a little pin prick _ __  
_ There'll be no more aaaaaaaah! _ _  
_ __ But you may feel a little sick-”

    Hank patted him on the cheek to bring him back to reality. Peter took out his earbuds.

    But then he's back, back in that tiny cell, dragging the fingers bloodied from slamming against the wall, pleading,  _ ‘feed me,’  _ like an animal and they laugh, because that's what he is, an animal. 

    And he's chained down and his nerves, his muscles are screaming to  _ go! Run!  _ But he can't, and the scientist is there, the one with the stupid round glasses and poofy brown hair, and something goes into his side and pain pain pain pain explodes across his body. And Round Glasses is talking, reminding him of the  _ Revenge against Stark _ and Pietro thinks that it's worth it, he can deal with a little pain, with a little-

    It is little, but it's wrong, so wrong, because Pietro doesn't want this, doesn't want the man, the man with the receding hairline and the military uniform, but he needs it, he needs the  _ Revenge against Stark _ , but it hurts like fuck- ironic, right?- even though it's tiny-

    -the pain is getting worse, but they're leaving Wanda alone, and Pietro will do anything,  _ anything  _ for her, and he doesn't need help and he can handle pain-

    -pain pain pain and it's all the time now, because he's weak, and they don't get it because they just want  _ the best  _ for him, so he'll get stronger and get the  _ Revenge against Stark _ -

    -and he is in a hospital bed, with Erik pinning down his wrists and, God, Peter is crying because fucking Pietro came back. 

    And Erik whispers, “Ты в безопасности. Ты в безопасности, дорогой сын  _ (You're safe. You're safe, my dear son). _ ”

    But the Russian is a Pietro thing, and so is the torture and he doesn't want that, doesn't want the Round Glasses experimenting on him, doesn't want Receding Hairline inside-

    -and then Charles is there, because, what the fuck, he thinks Peter is important enough to ditch school shit for. And then Peter is Pietro, and he's sitting on the floor with Wanda, and he's young, about eight, which means parents and a home. They're playing dominoes with homemade paper pieces and the pieces keep fluttering around when they put one down because they're made of paper.

    -and he's back in the hospital room. Erik is halfway straddling Peter in an attempt to hold him down so he wouldn't run away and/or hurt himself. Charles is seated next to him, one hand on his own temple, the other on Peter's temple. 

    “It's Sunday, Peter,” Charles reminded him. “There's no ‘school shit’ (and he did  _ actually _ make air quotes at that) for me to be abandoning for you. That being said, I still  _ would _ leave a class to help you in your recovery.”

    “Cool,” Peter muttered. “Hey, dad, could you get off of me, please? Also, Charles, you can leave now.”

    Erik's change in expression was notable (but not recognizable) at the term 'dad,’ but he did promptly climb off of Peter. He sat down next to Charles. 

    “Peter,” Charles murmured, “it's OK to need help. I know you've spent your whole life taking care of yourself, but we  _ can  _ help you. I can't picture a nobler cause than to help you through your pain. I have seen your struggles, I have felt your pain.” Erik wiped a stray tear from Charles's cheek. “We can help you.”

    And Peter is blubbering, snot clogging up his nose and his breath becoming ragged with sobs. 

    “Ты в безопасности. Вы всегда будете в безопасности с нами  _ (You're safe. You will always be safe with us) _ ,” Erik whispered. “Не бойся, мой прекрасный ребенок  _ (Fear not, my beautiful child). _ ”

    “я не боюсь  _ (I'm not afraid) _ ,” Peter replied, which was a blatant lie. 

    Neither of them called him on it.

 

    “You're son is brilliant,” Charles remarked.

    “He is indeed,” Erik agreed.

__ “But he needs you,” Charles continued. “You, of all people, know what it's like to feel alone in the world. He's having trouble believing that anyone other than his sister could ever love him.” 

__ “How many times do I have to remind him how much I care?” Erik asked.

    Charles shrugged. “Tell him every day until he believes you, and then continue to tell him every day for the rest of your life.”

    Erik smiled a little. “I can do that.”

_ But I can't gather up the courage to tell you how I feel about  _ you.

      _Well, I can't in English, anyway._

__ “Ich bin in dich verliebt, Charles Xavier. Und das wird sich nie ändern  _ (I am in love with you, Charles Xavier. And that will never change). _ ” Erik raised his head to look Charles in his perfect blue eyes. “Das können Sie nie vergessen   _ (You can never forget that).” _

__ Charles may not have understood the words, but his intentions were clear.

    And, oddly enough, Peter was right.

    Not that either of them remembered that as Erik scooped Charles out of the chair and kissed him, full on his perfect lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleep is overrated.  
> Song lyrics are from Pink Floyd's song "Comfortably Numb"


	8. What Peter told Scott (against Charles's better judgement)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tells Scott a story and Cherik gets a little intimate.

    Scott ran into Peter's room, grinning and practically vibrating with excitement.

    “Jean and I went on a date!” he exclaimed.

    “Congrats, buddy,” Peter replied, not even bothering to lift his head off the pillow to look at him.  _ Why the fuck was he hitting on me earlier, then? _

    Scott grabbed Peter's arm in a grab for his attention and pulled him up, accidentally yanking on his injured shoulder. 

    “Jesus Christ!” Peter shouted. “Damn it, Scott, you made it worse.” Scott had been a little more forceful than he intended and had torn open his stitches. Blood was pooling on Peter's partially open hospital shirt. He hissed in pain when he glanced at the reopened wound. Rather than waiting for Scott to get help, Peter grabbed the needle that Hank had used earlier and began stitching it up himself.

    “Oh my God.” Scott was turning fifty shades of pale green. He looked like he was about to pass out, with wide eyes and a mouth drooping slightly open.

    Peter finished putting in the stitches. “Fabulous,” he muttered. “Scott, sit down. Don't pass out on me.”

    Scott obliged, although he didn't really look much better afterwards. “I could've fetched Hank,” he groaned. “Why did you do it yourself?”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “I'm fine, Scoot. I can handle the pain of a needle. It doesn't hurt that much.”

    Scott looked horrified. “Peter, I've gotten stitches before. They do hurt. A lot. And that's  _ with  _ the painkillers.”

    “Painkillers don't work the same on mutants, idiot. Hank has a special formula for mutants. Unfortunately, that doesn't work on me either, but it works on everyone else. It's got the side effect of no mutant powers, though, so it's totally not worth it.”

    “I could get rid of my mutant powers?”

    “Yeah, if you wanted to act high 100% of the time,” Peter muttered. “I've seen firsthand what that shit does to a guy. It's not pretty.”

    Scott raised his eyebrows.

    “Do you not know that story?” Peter smirked. “Story time! Grab your friends!” He paused. “Just kidding. Please don't grab everyone else. I'm not in the mood to deal with your weird friends.”

    “Dude, they're your friends, too.”

    Peter chuckled. “That doesn't make them less weird. Actually, that makes them weirder.”

    Scott shrugged.

    “Anyway.” He cleared his throat before he began, speaking in a slightly deeper voice. “The year was 2014. A man named Peter Maximoff was living in an apartment just outside DC. He had just recovered from the injuries he received while in Sokovia when three men knocked on his door. It was a motley crew, composed of people by the names of Logan, Charles, and Hank. Logan was a gruff fellow, with a deep voice and stubble. Hank was kind of short, a bit geeky. But Charles- oh, Charles was a special one. He had long, wild brown hair. He walked kind of funny and had this funky smile on his face. He was clearly on some kind of drugs, but under the veil of high was this kind of intellectual, pretentious prick-hood. Anyway, Peter ended up joining with this strange bunch in their quest to free Mr. Magneto from the Pentagon. Needless to say, it was a total success. The instant Charles saw Erik, he decked him with a sick right hook. Then Peter saved the day, super badass style. The bunch dropped Peter back off at his apartment, from which he watched Magneto threaten the President and his entire Cabinet, too.” He paused. “So yeah, good times.”

    “So… Charles was high when you first met him?”

    Peter smirked. “Yep. Really gives me a unique perspective on him.”

    Scott giggled. “Awesome.”

    Peter snapped his bloodied fingers. “He said to keep quiet about it, so you didn't hear it from me. Got it?”

    “Got it.”

 

    “Ahhhh,” Charles groaned.

    “Let me help you with that,” Erik replied, crouching down to rest on the balls of his feet. He began to massage Charles's flesh. “Better?”

    Charles nodded wordlessly before lowering his head to rest on the pillow. “Mmmhm, Erik,” he moaned. “Good Lord.”

    Erik continued to rub the flesh when Charles shifted into a more comfortable position. Erik sat down on the bed next to Charles. A sharp inhale sounded from Charles when Erik's hands moved lower down.

    “You've worked hard for, well, a long time. You deserve this,” Erik murmured. His fingers traveled further down. “Just relax.”

    Once Charles seemed satisfied on both sides, Erik began to run his fingers up Charles's legs, applying pressure on certain areas. Charles leaned into the touch, seemingly wanting him to press harder.

    “Don't want to hurt you.”

    “You won't,” Charles replied. “Just- God, Erik.”

    Erik was currently giving Charles's gastrocnemius vigorous attention. “You'd think that you would still be pretty loose after only two days,” Erik commented.

   Charles's progress through physical therapy was rapid, if painful. Charles's legs, left without exercise for years, were too weak to support his body weight. 

    Charles chuckled. “I cannot imagine circumstances under which I would say no to a deep-tissue foot and leg massage from Erik Lehnsherr.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you were expecting smut! I couldn't resist the false innuendos.


	9. What Peter told Scott (this time around)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a quick chat with his daddy and then his friend (?) Scott.

    Peter was asleep when Erik entered the room. Erik smiled fondly at his snoring, which was quiet and high pitched enough to be adorable rather than annoying. Peter's mouth was slightly open, and he was cuddling up to the pillow, treating it almost as though it was a doll. 

    Peter stirred after about a half hour of this. “Morning,” he murmured, eyes still drooping. “Need coffee.”

    Erik chuckled. “I'm not getting you coffee. You're normally bouncing off the walls. It's all we can do to keep you mostly at rest.”

    Peter yawned with a little noise. “Mmm. Well, at least get me some yummy breakfast to go with my chalk-flavored milkshake.”

    “Chalk- _ flavored _ ? Isn't chalky more of a consistency issue?”

    Peter giggled a little. “You'd think, yeah. But no, it tastes like chalk and has the consistency of a dirt smoothie.”

   Erik wrinkled his nose. “That does not sound enjoyable to drink.”

    “He said he's working on one that tastes better. The texture will probably be even chalkier, but there's not much we can do about that. I just need the nutrients and, more importantly, the calories. Why do you think I was a thief?” Peter smirked, then sobered. “I was a thief because the majority of  _ Americans  _ have high school diplomas  _ from _ America and companies would rather hire people with diplomas.”

    “You were struggling economically? You should have said something.”

    “Like what? ‘Hey, I was too busy doing other shit to graduate from high school, so I can't get a job can I join your boy band?’”

    Erik smiled. “I'm sure he would have said yes.” He paused. “Didn't you get a diploma anyway?”

    “Oh, yeah. ‘Hey Charles, I got a high school diploma, but it's Sokovian and I lost it, so you'll have to take my word for it.’”

    “I'm sure they have records…”

    Peter scoffed. “It's  _ Sokovia _ . Even if they had records at some point, it blew up. Actually, basically everyone and everything that knew I existed at all is gone. Or most people, anyway. There are a couple left.”

    “... Until recently, you mean,” Erik corrected. “Nothing, short of an intense mind wipe, will make me forget you.”

    Peter smiled. “Thanks. But I was talking about old me. I bet everyone except my sister has forgotten me. And I'm sure she's found a suitable replacement.”

    “Remind me why you were severed from your sister.”

    Peter sighed. “She thinks I'm dead.”

    “ _ Tell  _ her that you're not,” Erik suggested.

    “I'm happy here. We both have our separate lives. We cannot have each other without losing something or someone else. Her friends, they're not mutants. They're weird, but they're not mutants. Even if they were, they wouldn't want to stay here. They're all adults who wouldn't want to live out their lives in a school, and I want to stay here. Where they are, where I am, it can't interact. It would have a negative effect on the world if the two groups met.”

    “Who is the other group, and why do you say that?”

    “I'm not telling you, and I'm saying that because we don't work well with outsiders, and neither do they. We're better off apart,” Peter explained.

    Erik groaned. “ _ Please _ . Think about  _ yourself _ for once.”

    Peter smirked. “Y’know, I never thought I'd hear anyone say that to me.”

    “Well, I'm saying it now. So listen to me and talk to her.”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “ _ No. _ End of discussion.”

    Erik sighed. “Very well.”

 

__ Scott came into Peter's room. “Hey, Peter! How's it going?”

    “Peachy,” Peter replied. Hank had removed yet another bullet, so Peter was still feeling the effects of the nearly useless painkillers. “They're testing my blood for lead poisoning. I don't know why they bother with the painkillers. Lord knows they have no effect on me. Они чертовски бесполезной  _ (They damn useless). _ ”

    Scott's brow furrowed. “What did you just say?” he asked.

_ Shit. Stop speaking Russian,  _ _ Pietro _ _ Peter. _

    Peter shrugged. “Gibberish,” he lied. “Couldn't repeat it if I tried.”

    “Don't lie to me. What language was that?”

    “Uh…” Peter was shit at lying. He really was. And, while Scott probably couldn't pick up all the cues through those stupid glasses, he could still catch enough to know the Peter was lying. “Russian. I studied Russian in high school.” This was completely true. Since it was kind of a language barely secondary to English in Sokovia (and that was just because everyone wanted out of Sokovia, so being fluent in English was just a good idea.), Russian language, or русский язык, was the Sokovian equivalent of English language.

    “Why the heck did you, a high school dropout, get good at speaking Russian?”

    “Закрой свой рот, или я закрою его для вас ( _ Shut your mouth or I'll close it for you).  _ None of your business.”

    This was unfortunate. Peter's accent was returning with a vengeance, and now that he had spoken Russian, he couldn't completely stop without anyone noticing.

    “Cool. Anyway, Kurt wanted me to get some words of wisdom from you. I told him that you couldn't have any, but then he pouted and I cannot be held accountable for anything I do under his mind control.”

    Peter smirked. “No, man, I've got a great one. I'm just gonna quote the words of a total psychopath that I used to hang out with: : Everyone creates the thing they dread. ‘Men of peace create engines of war, invaders create avengers. People create... smaller people? Uhh... children! Lost the word there. Children, designed to supplant them. To help them... end.’ Yes, that whole thing was him.”

    Scott gave Peter an incredulous look. “Your friend sounds weird.”

    “Well, yeah, he cut off someone's arm and then  _ immediately  _ apologized.” Peter laughed. “That guy was  _ so  _ crazy.”

    “... Why were you friends with him?”

    Peter shrugged. “More like business partners, honestly. We- no, I helped him out, and he looked after me. He treated me well.” He paused. “But I caused a lot of problems while by his side.”

    The timer started to beep. 

    “Oh, well, I will see you tomorrow,” Scott said.

    “Yep, see you later, Scoot!”


	10. What Hank told Erik to do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I know this is kinda late and kinda short, but I felt like I should put something out there.

    Charles and Erik were undergoing a passionate make out session when Hank entered the room.

    “Oh, God! Oh God, I-I-I'm sorry, but I need to talk to Professor Xavier,” Hank stuttered, his face tomato red. He began shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another.

    They separated, but remained close together. “How can I help you?” Charles asked, keeping a straight face.

    “Oh, uh… um, Peter tested positive for lead poisoning. It's unconventional, but we need to remove all the bullets  _ now _ . He's been living with them inside him for two years. He's getting sicker by the minute.”

    Erik stood up. “Then treat him,” he ordered. 

    “Uh… see, that's the thing. If we remove the bullets in a conventional manner, he might lose too much blood.” Hank paused. “Peter had an idea. He thinks that Erik should remove the bullets.”

    “I'm not a doctor-” Erik began, but Charles cut him off.

    “He means with your powers, Erik,” Charles explained. “He thinks you can do it more efficiently.”

    “Peter suggested that he do the stitches, as he can do it more quickly to lessen blood loss.” Hank frowned. “I think it's a bad idea.”

    Erik sighed, resting his forehead against his fingertips. “I am concerned for the pain it will cause him, but Peter is right. He will likely be better off doing the stitches himself.” He looked pained as he said it.

    Hank sighed. “It's just worrying, is all. I'm merely concerned that he may lose consciousness and be unable to continue. It did happen the first time.”

    “He did it by himself the first time. He will be better off if he has help,” Charles commented. “Besides, even if he does, we will have made  _ some  _ progress.” He stood up and his knees promptly gave out.

    Erik caught him and lifted him off his feet, bridal style. “I've got you.”

    “I-I’ll be in the lab,” Hank muttered. He bolted out the door.

    Erik furrowed his brow. “Do you suppose others will judge us?”

    “Do you care?” Charles reached up and cupped Erik's jaw in his hand, running his pointer finger along Erik's stubbly beard.

    Erik smiled fondly. “Charles, I would cross the ocean in a canoe to be with you.”

    “And I you.”

 

    The plan was simple enough. Erik would pull out a bullet, and Peter would disinfect the wound (at Hank's insistence) and stitch it back up.

    The execution was less so. After four bullets, Peter's hands were shaking and he was crying from pain. 

    “Five left,” Peter groaned. “Fuck, I'm getting soft.”

    Erik desperately wanted to rip out the throat of whoever did this. His hands balled up into fists.

    Peter recognized the sentiment and smiled a little. “Too late. My sister already ripped his heart out, crushed it, and dumped his broken body in a lake.”

    “Jesus Christ!” Hank exclaimed. He looked horrified. 

    “I like this girl,” Erik commented, ignoring Hank's exclamation.

    “Well, good. She's your daughter.” He looked at Charles. “Hey, couldn't you, like, put my mind on something other than the pain? That would make it easier.”

    Charles nodded. “It will be difficult to keep you on task while you are doing this, but I'll try.”

    Charles searched through Peter's memories, trying to find one appropriate for the occasion, one of simple joy.

    He ended up merely creating joy in Peter's mind without a memory.

    It occurred to Peter that he could not help with the bullets in his back.

    “Yes, we're trying to figure out what to do about that,” Charles informed him. “Erik, could you use your powers to rapidly stitch up wounds? Peter can't do that for the ones on his back.”

    Peter was verging on a flashback when Charles took his hand. The hand was grounding him, holding him safe from the massive windstorm in his mind.

    And then they were finished. And Erik stroked his hair, telling him how well he did and how proud he was.

    When Peter passed out from sheer exhaustion, he had a smile on his face.


	11. What Hank told them (vs the truth).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter feels!

    “When can I leave?” Peter asked, looking hopefully, if a little sleepy, at Hank. It had been two days since the final surgery and Peter was getting restless.

    Hank sighed. “When you've healed enough that I'm comfortable allowing you to leave. Right now, you can't even get up.” He was rifling through cabinets in the room, seemingly looking for something.

    “That seems arbitrary,” Peter whined. “I want a second opinion.”

    “Well, I don't really care.” He lifted a stack of papers, looked under it, then slammed it back down. “ _ God damn it! _ Where is it?” Hank must have been pretty upset to say anything remotely resembling a swear word.

    “What the fuck are you looking for?” Peter asked. 

    “My meds!” Hank was livid. “Where  _ are _ they?” He began to turn blue. “Damn it! Peter, help me find my meds!”

    “Sorry, can't get up.” Peter smirked. 

    “Don't mock me!” Hank growled. He was fully blue by this point, fur and all. “I take it back! You can get up! Just help me  _ find my meds! _ ”

    “Hank, can't you see? You're beautiful, babe.” Peter sobered. “Seriously, I don't think you should take them. Don't take away a part of who you are because you think you're ugly. You're  _ not.  _ You are an attractive young man, with  _ or _ without fur.” He paused. “And no, I'm not going to risk the speed of my healing process by getting up.”

    “I hate you!” Hank shouted. “I hate you and your stupid- ah!” He looked as though he wanted to tear Peter's throat out, but was barely restraining himself.

    “Sit down,” Peter ordered.

    Hank obediently took a seat, still shaking visibly.

    “I know you're upset, but you need to think this through. You're smart, you're strong, and, most of all, you're kind. Every part of you is special. We're all special. Don't try to conform. Don't change yourself, not for anyone else. Love yourself.” Peter squeezed Hank's big, furry hand.

    After a second, Hank tore his hand away from Peter. “No! Curse you and your stupid false pep talks! I hate you!” He stormed out of the room.

    “If only you could see yourself how I see you,” Peter whispered, his shaky hand slowly lowering to the bed.

 

    Charles and Erik were sitting together in comfortable silence, all but cuddling on Charles's old couch. Charles was grading English reports, setting down finished papers on Erik's lap. Erik had finished  _ Simplicius Simplicissimus _ and was now reading  _ The Devil's Elixirs  _ with his head resting gently on Charles's shoulder.

    “Love you,” Erik murmured somewhat sleepily.

    Charles jolted awake. Erik had told him as much, but never in English. The way he said it reminded Charles of an old married couple that had made the same admission thousands of times rather than a brand new couple stating it for the first time. But he couldn't scare Erik off with silence, he realized. “I love you, too,” he whispered. And it was most definitely the truth.

    Erik's eyes were drooping and his hands slowly dropping to his lap. Charles took away  _ The Devil's Elixirs, _ located a bookmark and put it in the book. He set the book down on the coffee table in front of him and moved the graded papers off of Erik's lap onto the side table. He moved the ungraded papers to a separate pile on the coffee table. 

    Erik vaguely noticed the change and wrapped his arms around Charles, forcing Charles to rest much of his weight on Erik. Charles shifted Erik so that they were both lying down, Charles's body mostly on top of Erik and his head rested in the crook of Erik's neck. 

    “We should move to the bedroom,” Charles suggested.

    “Too much effort,” Erik mumbled. “This is plenty comfortable.”

    “Somebody could come in,” Charles pointed out. “Do you want anyone seeing this?”

    “I don't particularly  _ mind _ anyone seeing this. Do you?” Erik planted a kiss on Charles's forehead and linked hands with him.

    “I suppose not.” Charles ran his fingers through Erik's hair. The two nearly fell asleep, their shallow breathing synced and their heartbeats slow.

    Charles was about to point out that they would have back pain in the morning if they didn't move to a bed when a fully beasted-out Hank burst through the heavy wooden doors.

    “Where are my meds?” Hank demanded. “Get them  _ right now _ !” He glared at Erik. “I know you took them.”

    Erik grumbled something about it being too late for this and Charles sat up.

    “Hank, let's not start accusing people without more information,” Charles suggested. “Tell us what you know.”

    Hank took a deep breath. “I took my meds in the morning, normal dosage. I taught classes at all the normal times. Raven and Erik each had a shift with Peter while I was gone. When I returned to the room after dinner, Peter was in the same place, but he was alone. He said that Raven had left about five minutes before I showed up. He was telling me, repeatedly, that I didn't need my meds and refused to help me find them. Then I got frustrated and came here.” Hank groaned. “Why me?”

    Erik yawned audibly. “Well, I agree with Peter, but I didn't take your medication. Either Peter did in those five minutes, or it was Raven.”

    Hank rolled his eyes. “She's above stupid pranks like that. Or, at least, she is now, thanks to Erik.”

    Erik ignored that comment. “I'll talk to him.”

 

    Peter was admiring his toenails when Erik entered the room. Raven had brought in silver fingernail polish during her shift and painted Peter's fingernails and toenails.

    “Hello, Peter,” Erik greeted.

    “Hey, dad,” Peter replied. “Hey, do you like my nails?” He held out his hands for Erik to admire.

    “Very nice.” Erik had paid them very little attention. He seemed to have something else on his mind, but wasn't going to voice it without provocation. 

    “What's up, dad?” Somebody had to break the ice.

    Erik sighed. “What did you do with Hank's medication? I agree that he shouldn't have if, but I don't think theft is the best route.”

    Peter wordlessly pointed to the sink.

    “You washed them down the sink.” It wasn't really a question, even though it was phrased as such.

    “Yup.” 

    Erik sighed. “Just tell me when and how.”

 

_ Peter's toenails had just finished drying when Raven's timer beeped. She left without a goodbye. _

__ She mentioned a fight,  _ Peter realized.  _ She's in a bad mood because Hank is an idiot.

    I could force him to adjust to himself.

_ Peter stood up, unplugged himself from the IV machine, and started searching through the room. The room looked organized, but it was a nightmare to navigate.  _

_     Peter came across more than a dozen syringes during his scan. He had done it in superspeed mode to save time. _

_     He dumped them in the sink without a second thought. _


	12. What Peter told Hank (the truth, unfortunately)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tells Hank the truth and Charles gets a back rub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! This one's pretty short, and took me longer than I meant for it to.

    Peter squeaked when Hank shook him awake. Hank's giant blue face hovered five inches above Peter.

    “You got rid of the syringes,” he growled. “Give me the formula sheet.”

    Peter swung his legs around to drape them off of the bed and stood up. Spots appeared in his vision and he grabbed Hank for support, head swimming. Hank held him up until he recovered. “Thanks,” Peter muttered. He continued to hold Hank's thick furry arm as he navigated through the room. He went over to the recycling can and began rifling through it.

    “You recycled it?”

    “Well, it should be here, unless you've emptied it since yesterday.” Peter found what he was looking for. He gave Hank a handful of shredded paper. “It should be in there somewhere.”

    Hank's eyes widened. “You  _ shredded _ my formula?” He clutched the sheds to his chest. “Oh, God. Oh my God. Oh my  _ God _ . You- you shredded my formula!” He burst into tears and fell to his knees. “You-you shredded my formula!”

    Peter hugged Hank, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It'll be OK, Hank. It'll be OK.”  _ You might hate me, but once you can love yourself, you can love… Raven.  _ Hank could never feel how Peter felt.

    But Hank's long-term happiness was more important than Peter's.

 

    “Hank is upset,” Charles remarked.

    “How unfortunate,” Erik muttered. His tone of voice suggested that he did not care either way. 

    Charles slid his hand across the desk to intertwine his fingers with Erik's. “I think your son did something. I would scold him myself, but I think it would mean more coming from you.”

    Erik sighed. “My heart wouldn't be in it. I agree with him.” He kissed Charles's hand. “Sorry.”

    “Sometimes I think the two of you are too similar,” Charles laughed.

    Erik smiled. “Like father, like son,” he agreed. “Let's hope he didn't get the… darker parts.” Charles looked as though he wished to be closer to Erik but was not sure how to proceed. Erik stood up and came around to Charles's side of the desk. He reached under Charles's thighs with one hand and wrapped around his back with the other. He lifted Charles out of his seat, sat down, and set him back down on his lap. “Better?”

    Charles laughed. “Students visit me, Erik. I don't think this is the most respectable position out there.” Rolling his eyes, Erik lifted Charles back up. He carried him to the couch in his office and laid him down. Charles chuckled, sitting up.

    Erik sat down next to him. “Turn around,” he instructed. Charles raised his eyebrows but obliged. Erik slid his hands up Charles's shirt and began to rub his shoulders.

    Charles let out a little moan and leaned into Erik's touch. “Erik,” he murmured.

    Erik smiled and placed a chaste kiss on Charles's neck. “Are you wondering how else these hands could be used?” he teased.

    “Yes,  _ God,  _ Erik.” He tried to squash his moaning with minimal success. 

    “You are so tight,” Erik whispered. Charles rotated his head to look at Erik, who took the opportunity to kiss him. 

    “This sounds a lot dirtier than it is,” Charles remarked. “I hope nobody walks by the door.”

    “I'd like it to be a lot dirtier than it is,” Erik confessed.

    Charles turned around. “I can arrange that, Erik.” Erik locked the door with his powers.

    It was a good thing that the walls were thick.

  



	13. What Raven told Peter (but he kind of ignored)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The (slightly) younger Maximoff arrives!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the slow update. I got roped into a weekend-long event, and then I had a shit ton of homework. So this chapter took a little longer. That being said, I'm going to try to be a little more consistent.  
> Enjoy!

    Peter was nearly healed. After three days of being confined to a hospital room, plus another three days of life entirely inside a stuffy mansion, Peter was finally allowed to leave his house.

    When he woke up one day, he felt her. 

    Now, he certainly was not a telepath in any way, but their former bond yanked at his mind. He knew that she was coming the instant she set foot within the school's gates. 

_ Shit. _

_     She can't know. _

__ Peter blocked off his mind, taking care to fully cut himself off from the world.

    His trek to breakfast was made at the speed of a normal human. Everyone that was already there looked at him with expressions of confusion on their faces.

    “Hey, guys,” he greeted. His voice sounded as though he were half asleep due to the effort it took to hold the barriers in place.

    “Peter, why are you blocking off your mind?” Jean asked, her tone gentle. “We won't  _ ever  _ take anything from your mind without your permission. I promise.”

    Peter shrugged. “There are other telepaths, y’know. I just don't wanna wear a dorky helmet or anything. Plus, I'm not sure the other telepath is sticking around.”

    “Other telepath?” Scott jumped out of his seat, hand moving to the side of his goggles.

    Peter rolled his eyes. “Don't get your panties in a twist, Summers. I'm sure she doesn't mean any harm.”

    Jean pressed her lips into a thin line. “Then why are you guarding yourself from her? And how do you know the visitor is a telepath?”

    Peter shrugged, pouring himself a bowl of Lucky Charms. “Just ‘cause she doesn't mean any harm doesn't mean I trust her.” He paused. “And I know she's a telepath ‘cause I- I…” He trailed off.

    “You what?”

    He shook his head. “Nothing. I'll see you guys later.” He took his bowl and went back to his room.

 

    Wanda approached the two men seated on a set of chairs on the porch.

    “Hello,” the bald man greeted. The other man stood up and helped him up. The man in the black turtleneck seemed to be supporting the majority of the bald man's weight. “How may I help you?”

    “Is this the school for mutants?” she asked.

    The turtlenecked man took a step forward, forcing the bald man to sit back down. “Who are you?” he demanded.

    The bald man shook his head. “Erik,” he sighed affectionately. He grabbed at  _ Erik _ ’s arm and used it to stand back up. “Don't worry. She doesn't mean any harm.”

    Erik looked concerned, but backed down nonetheless.

    “I need help,” she admitted.

    The man nodded. “Let's start over.” He paused. “My name is Charles Xavier, but many people refer to me as Professor X. What is your name? All cards on the table, please.”

    She bit her lip. “I'm Wanda… Maximoff. Also known as the Scarlet Witch.”

    Charles slapped his hand over Erik's mouth. “Don't say that!” he exclaimed. “He turned back towards Wanda. “Hello, Wanda. I understand that you are a fugitive?”

    She nodded wordlessly.

    “Well, as long as you do not threaten my students, you will have refuge at this school. If you do… well, I can't be held responsible for anything that I do in response.”

   She nodded again, feeling a bit like a bobblehead. “I understand,” she agreed. “And I will not threaten your students.” Not that she was complaining, but it seemed odd that he was housing an international terrorist.

     Charles smiled. “Well, then let's get you inside.” He glanced at her. “And I'm  _ already  _ housing an international terrorist.”

 

    “Peter's acting weird,” Kurt mentioned as soon as Charles entered the room. 

    Scott rolled his eyes. “Peter  _ is  _ weird, Kurt.”

    Charles furrowed his brow. “Weird how?”

    “Weird as in he left with his breakfast without stealing anyone else's food, didn't insult anyone, didn't use his powers, and had mental barriers up,” Jean explained.

    “I don't believe he  _ can  _ use his powers while using mental barriers. I think it takes most of his concentration. In fact, I remain impressed that he can even  _ speak _ with mental barriers up.”

    Scott laughed. “He doesn't think about what he's saying, Professor.”

    The telepathic (?) girl cocked her head. “Who are we talking about?”

    “Oh, my apologies. Students, this is Wanda. Wanda, this is Scott, Kurt, Jean, and Ororo,” he said, gesturing to each as he introduced them. 

    “You can call me Storm,” Ororo piped up.

    “Hi,” Wanda mumbled. “I don't want to be a bother.”

    “You won't be,” Storm muttered. “As soon as Peter gets bored and comes back, we'll be even.”

    “Yeah, we can always use more girls,” Jean agreed.

    Scott groaned. “I don't know if us boys can handle three girls syncing up.”

    A wan smile appeared on Wanda's face. “Thank you,” she murmured.

    “It is no problem,” Kurt reiterated.

 

    Peter set the empty bowl on his nightstand and hugged his knees to his chest. “Я думаю, я просто буду скрывать для остальных когда-либо  _ (I guess I'm just gonna hide for the rest of ever) _ ,” he muttered to himself). “Я не могу встретиться с ней. Не сейчас. Наверное, не когда-нибудь  _ (I can't face her. Not now. Probably not ever) _ .”

    He picked up a book and started attempting to read it. 

    “Английский невозможно читать  _ (English can not be read) _ ,” he whined at the wall. “Это так чертовски трудно  _ (It's so damn hard). _ ”

    The wall didn't reply.

    “You can't hide forever,” Raven pointed out, standing in the doorway. She closed it and sat down on Peter's bed.

    “Yes, I can,” he protested, knowing that she was right. “I can just hide in here and run out whenever I need food.”

    “Are you really going to run away from your problems?”

    “No!” He glared at her. “I'm gonna  _ hide  _ from my problems.”

    She rolled her eyes. “You're worthless.”

    “I don't care about you or your opinions,” he groaned.

    “We both know that's not true.”

    He shrugged. “I'm just whining like a little bitch. Respect it.”

    She laughed. “Because  _ that  _ makes sense. I'm going to respect you because you're whining like a little bitch.”

    “Shut up.”


	14. What Peter told Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wanda are introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

    “Charles wants us to meet the new potential recruit,” Raven informed Peter.

    Peter groaned. “Charles can go fuck himself.”

    Raven stifled a laugh. “That's… disrespectful,” she scolded. “You should feel bad about saying that. He  _ is  _ housing you. For free.” She paused. “Anyway, you're going to have trouble getting sympathy from me if you don't tell me what's going on.”

    “I knew the new recruit a while back. Our separation was… messy.”

    “Ex?”

    Peter sighed. “Nope. It's just complicated.”

    “Tell me.”

    “She's my sister,” he began. “She thinks I'm dead. When I healed enough to go looking for her, I realized that it was just screwed up. I don't want her to see how I've changed. That's all,” he confessed. “I love her, but things have changed too much.”

    “The change was probably not for the worse,” Raven reassured. “And, even if it was, I think she'll love you anyway.”

    Peter punched her in the arm. “You're supposed to back me up!” he whined.

    She rolled her eyes. “ _ Tell her. _ ”

    “I'm not telling her.” He paused. “But I'll meet her,” he conceded.

 

    Wanda glanced up when another two people entered. A boy and a girl. The girl was fully undressed, exposing her scaled, vibrant azure skin. She had slicked back, bright orange hair and bright yellow eyes. The boy appeared to be fully human with pale skin and black irises. His silver hair was somewhat long, but not unreasonably so for a boy. He was dressed in a silver leather jacket, a black band T-shirt, and tight black jeans. His head was drooped down slightly.

    When Wanda glanced over their minds,  The blue girl seemed harmless enough, but was likely in a good mood. When she looked into the boy’s head, she found that his mind, guarded by a rather impressive form of  protection, was essentially impossible to read.

    “I can't trust you,” she informed him.

    “Nice to meet you, too,” he greeted. “I'm  Peter.’

    “Raven,” the girl announced.

    Wanda sighed. “I'm Wanda. But again, I can't trust you when you're guarding your mind.”

    Peter scowled. “Y'know, telepaths always do this. They think they're  _ entitled _ to everyone's thoughts, that they  _ so  _ special that they  _ deserve _ to know what everyone else is thinking and deny others trust because they can't read them when,  _ news flash,  _ nobody else can. Everyone else just has to trust or not trust based on words and expressions. Do  _ that  _ for once.”

    She stood up. “You  _ really  _ think that you can compare yourself to me? You don't know  _ anything  _ about me. And you probably haven't experienced anything like what I've experienced,” she growled. Her eyes began to glow red.

    “And you don't know anything about me,” Peter whispered.

    She raised her hands in anger, but Charles rose and grabbed them. 

    “Calm your mind,” he instructed. “You need to calm your mind.” 

    She turned around. “Do you realize what he just said to me? Он ничего не знает  _ (He does not know anything) _ !” She tore away from Charles's grasp. “Он не понимает, боль я чувствовал  _ (He does not understand the pain I felt) _ !”

    “I have suffered more than you know _ , _ ” Peter growled. 

    Wanda looked at him, incredulous. “Please, tell me how you think you can understand me.”

    Peter crossed his arms. “Unlike you,  _ I'm  _ not so quick to share my sob story. Trust me, don't trust me, whatever. But don't assume anything about me.”

    Peter felt excruciating pain, horrible, horrible pain as though he was being repeatedly slammed against a wall. A wave of mental agony hit him, and he clutched at his head, falling to his knees.

_ “She's right,” Erik said. “You're  _ worthless. _ ” He took a step towards Peter. _

_     “You don't deserve to be here,” Charles agreed, also approaching him. _

_     “None of us like you, you know.  _ Nobody  _ likes you,  _ Pietro, _ ” Raven growled. “You should just run away. It's all you're good at.” _

_     Hank grabbed Peter's arm. “Oh, he's also  _ gay _.” _

_     “Even better,” Erik muttered.  _

_     “But-but,” Peter spluttered, “but you're dating a guy!” _

_     Erik glanced at Charles. “Do you think it's time to wake him up?” _

_     Charles grinned. Hank pressed a finger to Peter's neck and Peter turned to look at him. But it wasn't Hank. Round Glasses leaned in close to look at Peter. _

_     “How did you like your dream?” he asked. “Nice way to break the news about your sister, right?” _

_     Receding Hairline stood in Charles's place. “Now we can… resume,” he murmured, reaching for Peter. _

 

    Tears streamed down Charles's face as he pulled Peter out of his nightmare. Erik sat down and cradled Peter in his lap, murmuring reassurances.

    Peter opened his eyes, from which the red glow was fading. “Dad? You're not-I'm not…? Am I…”

    Erik nodded. “You're safe now. We're here for you,” he whispered. “I will never abandon you. ты в безопасности со мной  _ (You're safe with me). _ ” He turned to look at Wanda, who was covering her mouth with her hand and sinking to the floor. “What did you do?” he demanded.

    “I...I lost control,” she admitted. “My-my control has been getting worse and worse.”

    Erik looked at Charles. “Her presence is causing Peter distress,” Charles commented.

    “Pietro,” she breathed. “Pietro…” She began to cry.

    “I can't…” Peter began. He looked around, still shaken up. He stood up and promptly disappeared down the hallway.

    Wanda let out a loud sob of despair.

__


	15. What Peter told himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter feels. Many Peter feels. All the Peter feels.
> 
> I'm sorry about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Self-harm, negative self-talk
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long. I rewrote it three times before I was satisfied.  
> I hope you enjoy.

    How could he have been so stupid?  _ Wanda probably hates me now. _

_     And I deserve it. I deserve it completely. I  _ abandoned  _ her when she needed me. I could have reunited with her… happily. But I blew it because I'm a fucking worthless idiot. A fuck-up on the island of misfit toys. A shit-stain on society. A piece of garbage tossed in with diamonds. Because everyone else here is amazing. But not me. _

_     I'm a leech. _

__ And he understood.  _ They don't want me here. I don't know why they're keeping me when I should be cast out, thrown into the streets like all those years ago. _

_     “They don't want you here,” a little voice whispered. “Nobody wants you.”  _

__ Peter hated it when the little red demon on his shoulder was right. Nobody wanted him. It was all out of obligation. Because he helped save the world  _ twice _ , people pretended to tolerate him.

_ Even Erik- _ no. Erik loved him. He had a smile, a beautiful, somewhat shark-like smile, that he only used for Peter and Charles. 

    And Erik clearly loved Charles.

    But Erik was the only one who loved Peter. Nobody else did- although, Charles may be compelled to like Peter since Charles was dating Peter's dad.

    Peter pulled the covers and blankets towards himself and wrapped them around his body like a cocoon. His throat began to burn.

_ You're useless. Nobody loves you. _

_     “Useless,” Receding Hairline murmured. “That's why they sent you back here. They wanted to get rid of you.” He leaned in close. “Because-” _

__ Peter slapped himself across the cheek several times until he snapped out of the daymare.  _ Pain helps me escape the visions,  _ he realized. 

    He began searching through his stuff. Even though he became unable to grow facial hair after the accident, he still had a razor somewhere, but- no.  _ No. No. No. No cutting. No. _

__ But he had wanted to.

    Tears streamed down his cheeks and his breath became shaky.

_ No. You'll break your father's heart. _

_     Yes! Do it! Nobody will care either way. _

_     You're- you're wrong. He loves me. _

_     Oh yeah, that's what you're hanging onto. Your Daddy's love. _

_     Because he does love me! _

_     Be honest with yourself, Peter. Does he? _

_     I-I-I don't know. _

_     He doesn't. _

__ Peter threw the razor blade away from himself and ran to his father's bedroom.

    He pounded at the locked door. “Dad! Dad! Let me in!” he demanded. No response. “Dad! Let me in! Open the door!”

    No response.

    Peter sank to the floor. “Please,” he begged. “L-let me in. Please.”

_ I left the razor in my room. _

_     Should I use it? _

_     That would get his attention. _

_     No- well, yes, it would, but that's not the point. It would hurt him and he's already been hurt too much. He can't go through that.  _

_     Forget him! He doesn't love you! _

_     Maybe he's not in here? _

_     Please. You know better than that. _

__ Peter knocked again, softer this time. “Dad,” he sobbed. “Dad, let me in.”

 

    Pietro always had anxiety issues. Wanda knew it. However much he tried to hide it, she saw the cuts on his arms and she knew. Those cuts, always too orderly to be from fights, were his little way of saying ‘fuck you’ to the world.

    Though, honestly, Wanda felt like he was more saying ‘fuck you’ to himself.

    So she was worried. 

    Every time they disagreed, Pietro turned his rage inside. Marks appeared on his arms. He always left his inner forearm untouched, likely to avoid the vital blood vessels in the area. He didn't want to  _ die _ .

    He always said that he lived so that she could succeed. That all the income he brought in, that was for her. He never got things for himself, other than food. Even then, he was starving for her.

    She hated him for it. She kept saying that it should be equal, but Pietro would always point out that they consumed the same amount of food. He needed more food than her, but he tried to give her more food than him.

    He had spent his whole life being selfless, and, the one time Wanda had the chance to be selfless in return, she blew it. She wanted to go looking for him, but she didn't know her way around and knew that an invasion of his mind would make the anxiety worse.

    Instead, she entered Professor Xavier's office. He was seated at his desk with Erik on the other side, playing chess. The pair was nearly glowing with love for one another. 

    Xavier looked at Wanda. “What brings you here?” he asked, still somewhat wary.

    “It's Pietro,” she began. It took them a second to figure out to whom she was referring. “I don't think he should be alone right now. He has anxiety issues.”

    Erik furrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

    Xavier nodded in agreement with his boyfriend. “He has never displayed any symptoms of any mental issues other than PTSD. Is it possible he has grown out of it?”

    Wanda shook her head urgently. “No! You need to find him before he does something stupid.”

    “Something… stupid?” Erik inquired. “What kind of stupid?”

    “Slicing his arm open stupid.”

    Erik's eyes widened and he leapt from his chair. “That is not stupidity. That's  _ desperation _ .” He grabbed Wanda's arm. “Help me find him and  _ tell  _ me if you find him, because, if he is that desperate, I have failed as a parent.

    She nodded. “And I have failed as a sister. Again.”

 

    Peter's hand shook as the blade hovered above his arm.  _ Don't do it. _

_     Do it. _

_     Don't do it. _

_     Do it. _

_     You don't need to do this. _

_     This is the only way. _

_     There are people that care. _

_     No, there aren't. They don't care, not really. _

_     They prevented me from dying. _

_     That's their morals. _

__ He clutched at his head.  _ Stop fighting!  _ he begged the voices.

_ Oh, yeah, just wait here for the people who will never come. _

_     Nobody cares. _

_     Nobody wants you. _

_     Nobody  _ loves _ you. _

__ He closed his eyes and a thin red line appeared on his arm.

 

    When Erik found Peter, four cuts spilled dark red blood on the carpet outside his room. His head was tipped down as he studied his work with an apathetic gaze. He didn't even lift his head when Erik approached him.

    “Peter,” Erik breathed. He knelt down, ignoring the hot liquid under his knees, and pried the razor from Peter's hands and pushed it off to the side. Erik tore a strip off of his flannel shirt and wrapped it around Peter's arm, applying pressure. “Я люблю тебя, мой дорогой сын. Ты не одинок  _ (I love you, my dear son. You are not alone). _ ”

    “Я думал, ты не волновало  _ (I thought you did not care) _ ,” Peter whispered.

    Erik tore off another strip and wrapped it around Peter's arm. “No. Never. Ничто не может когда-либо изменить мою любовь к тебе  _ (Nothing can ever change my love for you). _ ” He pulled Peter into his arms and ran his fingers through his hair, again ignoring the blood. “I promise.”

    “Don't go anywhere,” Peter requested. “Please don't leave me alone.”

    Erik cupped his son's cheeks. “I'll stay with you as long as you need.”

_ I have failed as a father. _

_     Never again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's experience with self-harm is different. I have had the mental conversation depicted but have never actually harmed myself.   
> I hope none of you have gone through this kind of thing.


	16. What Wanda told Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feels all over. Wanda and Erik warm up to each other and Charles has the 'therapy talk' with Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! This one's a little short, and it took longer than I originally anticipated.  
> I hope you enjoy!

    The next half hour or so was a blur. Charles and Wanda came over and spoke with Erik. Peter didn't register any of the words they were speaking, but he could tell that they were worried.

    They cared enough to worry.

    Erik set Peter down and entered his room.

    Peter looked up at the door Erik had entered and immediately curled into a tiny ball, sobbing uncontrollably.

 

    Wanda knelt down and put her hand on Pietro’s shoulder, but he recoiled from her touch. 

    Wanda also began to cry.

    Pietro looked up at her. “это был естественный реакция к недавний травма  _ (It was a natural reaction to a source of recent trauma), _ ” he explained. “Это не имеет ничего общего с моим сознательным мнение о вас.  _ (It has nothing to do with my opinion of you conscious) _ .”

    “Ты меня ненавидишь ( _ You hate me) _ ?” Wanda asked, eyes wide with fear.

    Pietro shook his head. “Нет, конечно нет  _ (No, of course not) _ .” He turned to look at her and threaded his fingers through hers. “Я буду любить тебя всегда, моя сестра  _ (I will always love you, my sister) _ .”

    “И я тебя тоже люблю  _ (I love you too) _ ,” she replied.

    “Папа  _ (Dad) _ !” Pietro exclaimed when Erik left his room. He had donned a black turtleneck and clean black jeans. 

    “Питер  _ (Peter) _ ,” Erik greeted, eyes glowing with warmth and affection.

    Wanda cocked her head. “Ты наш отец  _ (You are our father) _ ?” Even though he had mentioned it before, she hadn't processed the information.

    “Это замечательно, разве нет  _ (It's wonderful, is it not) _ ?” Pietro asked with a grin.

    Wanda, however relieved, couldn't help but notice how quickly her brother had recovered. Was it Erik's doing? She filed that information away for later analysis.

    “Dacă el te face fericit, eu respect asta, dar eu nu-l pot vedea ca un tată  _ (If it makes you happy, I respect that, but I can not see him as a father) _ ,” Wanda murmured. Erik furrowed his brow, trying to translate the Romanian in his head.

    “Putem vorbi în minte  _ (We speak your mind) _ ?” Pietro asked. 

    “ _ Of course. I forgot that your Romanian leaves much to be desired.” _

    Pietro rolled his eyes.  _ “Can you repeat what you said?” _

_     “Of course,” she replied. “If him being your father makes you happy, I respect that, but I cannot be his daughter.” _

__ Pietro furrowed his brow.  _ “Why? Don't you  _ want _ a family?” _

_     “Yes. I have one. You.” _

__ Pietro sighed.  _ “I understand. But, try to be nice, OK?” _

_     “We’ll see.” _

 

    Erik disliked it when people had mental conversations. He found it infuriating to see their facial expressions without hearing their words.

    But he respected Peter's sister's privacy.

    From what he had translated, Wanda had said something like, ‘You [are] happy, I respect, not father,’ which he took to mean, ‘If you are happy, I respect that, but he's not my father.’ Erik didn't particularly mind this. From what he'd seen, his opinion of the girl wasn't too high, but he was afraid that she would sway Peter's opinion of him.

    Erik would be lost without his son.

    Ever since they had first met, Erik was fascinated by the boy. During the battle with En Sabah Nur, Erik was impressed by his bravery. When he confessed his pain, Erik felt a connection to him. Once Peter had declared Erik to be his father, Erik immediately loved him and wanted to stay in his life forever.

    He could not handle it if she stole away his son. He could not lose another family member. If Peter were to walk away, Erik would be destroyed.

    Charles pulled Peter off to the side.

    “Он любит вас, вы знаете ( _ He loves you, you know) _ ,” Wanda commented.

    Erik looked at her. Her facial expression had not changed, as though they were discussing something as simple as the weather. “It seems as though you wouldn't want to admit that.”

    She furrowed her delicate eyebrows. “What are you talking about?” She paused. “Ты идиот  _ (You're an idiot) _ !” she laughed. “You think I would fault another for bringing joy to my brother?” She shook her head. “Honestly. Ты такой странный  _ (You are so strange) _ .”

    Erik smiled a little. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.

 

    “Do you need to talk to someone about this?” Charles asked gently.

    “Jesus fucking Christ,” Peter muttered, causing Charles to wince. “I'm fine.”

    Charles crossed his arms. “You are anything but fine, Peter!” He shook his head. “I think you could do with some help.”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “I'm  _ fine _ .”

    Charles frowned in a mixture of concern, fascination, and annoyance. Concern because, well, Peter just sliced his arms open. Annoyance because he was acting like a teenager. And fascination because he was able to so quickly change between emotions.

    “Oh yeah, my emotions sometimes go superspeed too. Which is when I start acting like a, shit, shit, uh… опушенные девушка  _ (pubescent girl). _ ”

    Charles chuckled a little. “No, pubescent girls are much more difficult than you are.”

    Peter sighed. “Well, if you try to get me a licensed therapist, I might run away. That sounds like a shitty time.”

    “Therapists help people all the time,” Charles countered.

    “Yeah.  _ Normal  _ people.”

    Charles rested his hand on top of Peter's. “We're here for you. And I'll find you someone you can trust. I promise.”


	17. What Scott told Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I figured I should add in some other characters' drama. So here's a fluffy angsty chapter for my lovely readers!

    Peter rolled over to look at the door when it creaked open. Scott tiptoed into the room and stared at Peter.

    “What's up?” Peter asked groggily. He glanced at his alarm clock.  _ 2:30 AM. _

__ Scott took a couple more steps until he was right next to Peter's bed. “Uh…” He trailed off. 

    “Lemme guess. You want to cuddle.”

    Scott gave a slight nod.

    Peter rolled his eyes. “Don't you have a girlfriend for that?” he asked.

    “It's complicated,” Scott murmured.

    Peter scooted over on his bed to create room for Scott and lifted the covers, who lied down facing Peter.

    “I'm sorry, this is a little weird,” Peter whispered, flipping over to face the wall.

    Scott sighed. “Please?”

    Peter flipped back over to face Scott, who immediately nestled closer. “OK, this is a one-time thing. We are  _ not  _ becoming cuddle buddies.” 

    He managed to get comfortable and was about to fall back asleep when Scott whispered, “Can we talk?”

     Peter groaned. “OK. What do you wanna talk about?”

    “Just… tell me about your day,” Scott requested.

    “Jesus, Scott, you don't wanna hear about my day. My day was super shitty.”

    Scott looked up at Peter. Peter could see tears shining on his cheeks by the moonlight. “Please?” He linked his hand with Peter's.

    “Fine,” he relented. “What do you know about my past?”

    “Not much. All I know is that you speak Russian and took a bunch of bullets in Europe.”

    “Great. I mentioned a girl that I loved, right?” 

    Scott nodded.

    “Cool. That girl was my sister. She thought I was dead, so she moved on with her life. Recently, she got in trouble with the law and came here for refuge, ‘cause she's a mutant, too. Actually, you met her.”

    “Holy shit, that was your sister? Why the fuck were you so mean to her?”

    “I didn't want her knowing who I was, and I guess I pissed her off. But yeah, now she knows I'm here…”

    Scott squeezed Peter's hand. “What happened to you back there?”

    “She has the power to make people see their worst fears. She gave me a flashback, to… something shitty in my past.”

    “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

    Peter sighed. “No.” He didn't want to admit how soothing Scott was being at the moment. “Your turn.”

    Scott burst into tears.

    Peter wrapped his arms around him. “You don't have to talk about it,” he murmured.

    “Jean… sh-she cheated on me.”

    “Holy shit.”

    “Yeah,” Scott agreed quietly. “Holy shit.”

    Peter paused. “Do you know who it was?”

    Scott nodded. He sat up and removed his shirt. His chest was covered in bloody bandages. 

    Peter ran his hand down Scott's chest. “He did this to you? Who was it?”

    “Logan,” he sobbed. “And, when I confronted him, he told me to get off his girl and clawed an X in my chest.”

    “Logan is a dick,” Peter asserted. “He's not good for her. Do you want me to beat the shit out of him?”

    “Yeah,” he admitted after a moment. “Don't get hurt.”

    Peter laughed. “He can't land a single hit on me.”

    The two rested in silence for a couple of minutes. 

    “Peter?” Scott asked.  _ 2:50 AM. _

    “Yeah?”

    “I… I have a request.”

    Peter sighed. “Shoot.”

    Red painted Scott's cheeks. “I-I want you to… I want to kiss you.”

    Peter furrowed his brow. “Why? I'm, like, the shittiest kisser ever.”

    “I don't care.”

    Peter let his lips brush against Scott's, who took it as an invitation to proceed. He kissed Peter with a fervor Peter hadn't anticipated. Peter gasped and Scott's tongue entered his mouth. 

    The last time something like that was in Peter's mouth… Receding Hairline…

    Peter suddenly pulled away, breathing heavily.

    Scott grabbed his hand. “Shit, Peter, did I do something wrong?”

    “No, I just… shit, damn it, shit, shit, damn it, it's been three fucking years, I should be… I should be over this…”

    Scott's eyes widened. “Shit, shit, should I leave?”

    Peter shook his head vigorously. “Can you… can we…”

    “Continue cuddling?” Scott guessed.

    Peter nodded, and pulled Scott back towards himself.

 

    “It's not my business, for the most part, what my students do with one another, and it's usually pretty easy to deal with fights between students,” Charles began. “But it puts me in an awkward position when an  _ adult  _ harasses a student. Furthermore, I am uncomfortable with sexual relations between a student and an adult, even if it is consensual and legal.”

    “Don't worry ‘bout it, Chuck,” Logan replied. “I know what I'm doin’.”

    “Oh, no, I'm  _ well  _ aware that you are familiar with this type of thing. But is Jean?”

    Jean looked up from her half-asleep state at the mention of her name. “Can we discuss this tomorrow?”

    “I'm sure, if you have enough energy for  _ sex,  _ you have enough energy for a conversation.” A surprising level of venom was in his voice. 

    “Oh, you're on  _ Scott's  _ side, aren't you?” Logan growled. “How  _ typical _ .”

    “I don't think this is about taking sides, Logan,” Charles replied. “I think this is about  _ right  _ and  _ wrong _ .”

    “Oh, and I'm in the wrong, huh? I guess that's just how it goes down. It's always Charles's  _ favorites  _ that are in the right.”

    Charles lifted an eyebrow. “Actually, if you must know, I tend to favor Jean.”

    “And you hate me now,” Jean murmured.

    Charles sighed. “I don't hate you, Jean. I'm not angry. I'm just  _ disappointed _ .”

 

    When Peter woke the next morning, Scott had removed his glasses and buried his face in Peter's chest. He shifted slightly.

    “Please don't open your eyes,” Peter muttered, sitting up carefully.

    “Where's my glasses?” Scott grunted.

    Peter rolled his eyes. “I'm the one who's s’posed to be fucking up the English language, not you.” He grabbed the glasses off of the nightstand and gave them to Scott, who promptly put them on.

    Scott ran a finger down Peter's chest. “You sleep without a shirt on,” he remarked.

    “Yup,” he replied. “I've since adjusted, but I used to get hot all the time after I moved here. My home nation is much colder.” He paused. “Whoa, it kinda looks like we…”

    Scott inhaled sharply. “Especially ‘cause I came here in yesterday's clothes.”

    “How do we make this  _ not  _ look bad?”

    Wanda chose that exact moment to enter the room. Both boys were shirtless, their bottom halves covered by blankets. Scott was halfway straddling Peter and their faces were mere inches apart.

    “Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I'll just-”

    “It's not what it looks like,” Peter interrupted. “We just cuddled while shirtless.”

    She cocked an eyebrow. “ _ Really _ .” 

    “Yes!” Peter exclaimed. “God, why don't you just look in my mind or whatever?”

    “I thought you didn't want me in your head, no?”

    “So look in Scott's,” Peter offered.

    Scott shook his head. “I'm not in the mood for telepaths.”

    Wanda giggled. “Then I'm just assuming you two had sex.”

    Peter smirked. “You know better. I leave  _ marks _ .”

    “Ew! Stop pointing out how much more I know about your sexual desires than I'd like!”

    Peter grinned at Scott. “You'd let me mark you up, wouldn't you?”

    The hardness pressing against Peter's thigh told him that Scott would probably enjoy that  _ very _ much.

    “Well, I'll leave you to it,” Wanda chuckled. “Have fun with that эрекция  _ (erection) _ .”

    “О, нам будет весело  _ (Oh, we will have fun) _ ,” Peter replied.

    “Good.” She looked at Scott. “Он хочет быть сверху  _ (He wants to be on top) _ .” She left the room with a smile.

    Peter looked at Scott. “I'm not actually ready for this,” he admitted.

    Scott nodded. “What is this?”

    “Well, I was talking about your boner, but I don't know what we are.”

    It clearly took most of Scott's self-control to prevent himself from grinding against Peter's thigh. “Um, can we discuss that later?” Scott requested.

    Peter shrugged. “I'm an adult, so I get my own bathroom.” He gestured to a door. “Go take care of it.”

    Scott ran to the bathroom, clearly trying to prevent Peter from seeing anything.

    Peter laughed. _I enjoy this… whatever it is._   


	18. What Peter told everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group reacts to Jean's betrayal and Peter opens up a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's kinda weird, but only Wanda refers to Peter as Pietro. Peter considers himself to be Peter, not Pietro, so he is Peter while he is narrating.

    “Fucking whore,” Raven mumbled around her Frosted Flakes. 

    “Yeah,” Peter agreed from the couch, where he was sandwiched between Wanda and Scott. “Well, let's see if this turns into a civil war.”

    Wanda groaned. “Please no. I can't emotionally handle another civil war. The first one was bad enough.”

    Scott pressed his face into Peter's shoulder. “Why does this kind of shit happen?”

    Peter gave him a one-armed hug. “Because sometimes life just treats us like shit. We just gotta enjoy the parts that aren't shit.”

    “That's pretty deep,” Storm commented, entering the room.

    Peter shrugged. “Common sentiment.”

    “What are you people talking about, anyway?” Storm asked.

    “Our resident redheaded slut cheated on Scott with Logan,” Raven explained.

    “That seems like a little harsh of a description,” Storm muttered.

    “Dunno what to tell you,” Peter grunted. “She's just a whore. Who the fuck would cheat on Scott? Who the fuck would cheat on  _ anyone _ ?”

    Storm shrugged. “I can see where she's coming from. I've cheated before. Besides, what are  _ you  _ doing with Scott?” She turned to look at Peter with an icy gaze.

    “Comforting, obviously.” Peter scowled. “Yep, pick your sides, boys and girls. Wanda, where do you stand?”

    “With you, Глупый брат  _ (foolish brother) _ .”

    Peter smirked. “You'd normally be on either Team Scott or Team Jean, but I'm taking it as a Team Scott. Storm?”

    “I'm too old for this childish nonsense,” she muttered, leaving the room with her partially eaten breakfast.

    “Team Jean, I'm guessing. Raven?”

    Raven rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, I'm gonna side with that whore just to keep the girls together.”

    “Team Scott. Kurt?”

    Kurt burst into tears. “I cannot reject one friend in favor of another.”

    Peter raised his eyebrows, but he was not surprised. “Cool. You can be the mediator.”

    He nodded. “I can do that, ja,” he agreed, tears still flowing down his cheeks.

    “Wanda, go give him a hug or whatever,” Peter suggested.

    Wanda obliged, squeezing the tall, skinny boy in her slender arms. “Не бойся, Курт  _ (Do not be afraid, Kurt) _ .” She looked up at everyone else. “I think, more than anyone else, Logan is at fault. I mean, look at what he did.” She gestured to Scott with her head.

    “I prefer to blame Logan,” Peter agreed. “He's a slut, too.”

    Raven shrugged. “Blame Logan, blame Jean, whatever. They're both at fault and they're both sluts.”

    “I-I think I can blame Logan,” Kurt murmured. “But Jean is our friend.”

    “Was,” Scott corrected in a low, somber voice.

    “Shit!” Raven exclaimed. “Because of Jean, X-Men training and missions will be uncomfortable at best.”

    “That is  _ un _ fortunate,” Peter muttered. “Now we're  _ really  _ gonna have to pick sides. Y'know, the classic ‘half the team goes on every mission.’”

    “Honestly, not a bad idea,” Raven commented. “Although, I do have  _ one  _ question. Peter- did you and Scott bang last night?”

    He shook his head. “No. But we did literally sleep together.”

    “What else did you do?”

    “We made out-” Scott slapped his hand over Peter's mouth. Peter removed it and continued, “but it didn't go anywhere ‘cause I had a flashback.”

    “That-that was supposed to be between us!” Scott shouted. “You're making  _ me  _ sound like a slut.”

    Raven shook her head. “That wouldn't make you a slut. There's such a thing as comfort sex.”

    Scott cocked his head. “Comfort sex?” He shook his head. “For God's sake! We didn't have sex!”

    Peter smirked. “Close, though. Besides, I'm gonna get Charles to make my memories easier to deal with so I can engage in romance again.”

    Kurt furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about? What memories?” His golden eyes were wide with concern

    Wanda patted the top of his head. “We'll tell you when you're older.”

    Kurt shook his head urgently. “I am an adult. I can handle information!”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “You know what? Fine. I'll tell you.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Меня изнасиловали  _ (I was raped) _ .”

    Wanda looked at him. “Nobody understands you, Pietro.”

    “I lost the word,” he admitted. 

    “Вы забыли слово  _ (You forgot the word) _ ?” She seemed skeptical.

    Erik entered the room.

    “Отец  _ (Father) _ !” Peter exclaimed. When Erik looked at him, he continued, “Каково английское слово для изнасилования  _ (What is the English word for rape) _ ?”

    “What? Why?” he demanded. “Вы были ранены  _ (Were you injured) _ ?”

    “Да, мне было больно много лет назад  _ (Yes, I was hurt many years ago) _ .”

    “Oh, mein Sohn, ich war nicht da, als du mich brauchst  _ (Oh, my son, I was not there when you needed me), _ ” Erik murmured, sitting down next to him where Wanda had been seated.

    “Was hast du vermisst  _ (What did you miss) _ ?” Kurt asked.

    “Er war verletz  _ (He was hurt) _ ,” Erik explained. “Er wurde sexuell angegriffen  _ (He was sexually assaulted) _ .”

    “Wann? Warum? Von wem  _ (When? Why? By whom) _ ?” Kurt squeaked.

    Erik turned to Peter, eyebrows lifted.

    “I don't speak German,” Peter replied. “I don't know what you're saying.”

    “When, why, and by whom?” Erik inquired, draping his arm around Peter's shoulders.

    Peter sighed. “2014, because he was a dick, and don't know his name. I called him Receding Hairline.”

    “What are we talking about?” Scott demanded. “What the fuck is happening?”

    “Pietro was sexually assaulted in 2014 by a man he calls ‘Receding Hairline,” Wanda explained. “He was one of the scientists performing experiments on us.”

    Erik stood up. “There is a group experimenting on mutants?”

    Peter shook his head. “Cool your jets, dad. The Avengers destroyed their base and killed all of the scientists.”

    Erik exhaled in relief. “Did they experiment on anyone else?”

    Wanda nodded. “There were many others. None of us had powers initially. All the mutants’ powers showed themselves, and everyone else died.”

    Scott was still looking at Peter. “You were… sexually assaulted?”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “Now it's out in the open. I think I've pretty much cleared up all my secrets.”

    Erik put a hand on Peter's shoulder. “Charles wants you to get therapy.”

    Peter sighed melodramatically. “But I don't  _ want _ therapy. Can I at least get it from him or you or whatever instead of a licensed therapist? Those make me uncomfortable.”

    Erik shrugged. “I'll talk to him about it.”


	19. What Peter told Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a little chat with Logan.

    “They all hate me now!” Jean cried, clutching Logan's chest.

    He kissed her forehead. “No, they don't. They're a little upset, is all. They  _ will _ forgive you. I mean, they'll hate  _ me  _ forever, but I don't really care that much.”

    She punched him in the pec half-heartedly. “Why was I so _ stupid _ ? I shoulda just dumped him when I realized it wouldn't work out.”

    Logan shrugged. “That still might've split up the team.”

    “But, at least I would have had  _ someone _ on my side!”

    Logan sighed. “Jean, the only one who has a strong opinion is Peter. Wanda and Raven will always side with him. He just so happens to like Scott.”

    She looked up at him. “What about Storm and Kurt?”

    “From what I've heard, Storm’s on your side, and Kurt's refusing to take sides,” Logan explained. “So you've got Storm.”

    “Yay,” she muttered. “One to three.”

    “I'm pretty sure I've got zero to five.”

    She rolled her eyes. “But you weren't  _ friends _ with them.”

    The door slammed open and Peter appeared next to the pair.

    “Hey, Logan,” Peter greeted. “Do you want to try and justify attacking Scott?”

    Logan shrugged. “The little shit was getting in my face. I needed to send a message.”

    Peter scowled. “And what message were you trying to send? That you're a fucking coward and that you're willing to use your powers on someone when you know they  _ won't _ use their powers on you, especially when that person is younger, smaller, and in the  _ right _ ?”

    Logan stood up. “You trying to pick a fight, kid?”

    Peter balled his fists. “I'm not afraid to use my powers.”

    Logan crossed his arms. “So what? You're just gonna superspeed punch me a bit and then run away like the little bitch you are?”

    Peter took a step forward. “You have  _ no  _ idea who you're talking to.”

    “Oh yeah? Some brat who thinks he's all that even though he's never had a struggle in his life?”

    Peter placed his hands on his hips. “Why don't you ask your  _ girlfriend _ if I've had hardships. I think she's got some idea.”

    Logan looked at Jean.

    She ran her fingers through her hair. “He-he's struggled, Logan. He's had more hardships than you know.”

    Logan looked back at Peter. “What do you think you have on me?”

    Peter smirked. “Oh, I don't doubt that your life has been total shit. But I _ do _ doubt that you've had the shittiest life in this building. What about Erik? Or Wanda?”

    “Or you,” Jean added softly.

    Logan tried to grab Peter's shirt, but grabbed at empty air when Peter was suddenly a foot to the left. “Give me  _ one _ example.”

    “Oh, only one? I was tortured and experimented on. Sound familiar? Doesn't end there.”

    Logan rolled his eyes. “Don't try and get my pity, kid. It ain't gonna work.”

    Peter shrugged. “ _ You _ asked for an example of a hardship. I gave you one. Don't bitch ‘cause I've got character depth.”

    “Yeah, well Summers is a coward for sending you to do his fighting.”

    Peter grabbed Logan's shirt. “Is he? Вы напали на семнадцатилетнего  _ (You attacked a seventeen-year-old) _ ,” he snarled. “Вы почувствовали угрозу. Итак, что ты сделал? Ты обнажил свои когти и избегал исповедовать свои гребаные грехи  _ (You felt threatened. So, what did you do? You uncovered your claws and avoided confessing your fucking sins) _ .”

    “I don't speak Russian, kid,” Logan grumbled.

    “Want it in English? You were scared of the truth, so you unsheathed your claws. Only a coward attacks when asked a question,” Peter growled.

    Logan unsheathed his claws. “Do you wanna take this outside?”

    Peter shook his head. “Я не сражаюсь с таким трусом, как ты  _ (I'm not fighting a coward like you) _ .”

    “What did you just call me?”

    “Трус. A  _ coward. _ ”

    Logan bared his teeth. “You're the coward for refusing a fight ‘cause you can't win it.”

    Suddenly, Logan's arms were stuck very tightly to his sides and Peter held a half used roll of duct tape. 

    “Want me to do your legs next?”

    Logan snarled. “I'll kill you, you little-”

    “Never mind,” Peter interrupted, slapping a piece of duct tape over his mouth and beard, and made a show of taking a picture of him. “Have fun with that. It'll be like a wax.”

    Logan and Jean were alone again.

 

    Peter handed his phone to Scott. The image on the phone depicted Logan. His mouth was duct taped shut with a couple extra pieces on his beard. His claws were unsheathed, but couldn't move from his sides due to a generous amount of duct tape around his torso.

    Scott wrapped Peter in a hug. It wasn't suitable revenge, but it was a start.

    Peter recognized the sentiment. “Scott, you realize he's gotta pull duct tape off of his hairy body? It'll hurt more than a wax. And, yes, I removed his shirt first.”

    “And it'll  _ ruin _ his beard,” Scott giggled.

    Raven approached the pair. “What's going on?”

    Scott handed the phone to her, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god. That's amazing.”

    Peter bowed melodramatically. “This is  _ my _ version of beating someone up. It hurts  _ way  _ more than a  _ hundred _ punches.”

    “Wanda!” Raven exclaimed. “Come see what your brother did!”

    “What's up?” she asked, approaching them. She was holding a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other.

    Raven held the phone up for her to look. Wanda began to laugh uncontrollably. 

    “Oh, that's perfect!” she giggled. “Ты гений  _ (You are a genius) _ !”

    “ _спасибо_ _(Thank you)_ ,” he replied, smiling. “Не увеличивайте мое эго слишком много, хотя _(Do not increase my ego too much, though)_.”

    “Я буду беспокоиться о нарциссизме, когда перестаешь думать о разрезании запястий  _ (I will worry about narcissism when you stop thinking about cutting your wrists) _ ,” she muttered.

    “Не стоит упоминать, что  _ (It is not necessary to mention that) _ ,” Peter grumbled.

    “Просто мысль  _ (Just a thought) _ ,” she replied.

    “God, this is worse than mental conversations!” Raven shouted. “Just speak in  _ English  _ for God's sake!”

    “Easiest private conversation ever,” Peter reminded smugly.

    “I hate you,” Raven grumbled.

    “I doubt that,” Peter countered. He turned to his sister. “Она любит меня  _ (She loves me) _ ,” he informed her.

    “Все любят тебя  _ (Everyone loves you) _ ,” she said, smiling. “Especially us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because, don't we all love Peter?


	20. What Peter told Charles (in his dreams)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dadneto fluff

_ “Do you know why I prefer your company?” _

_     Pietro rolled his eyes. “No. You  _ definitely _ haven't told me a thousand times.” Honestly, Pietro couldn't tell their voices apart, and he couldn't see the man's face, so he didn't actually know if he had told him anything of the sort. _

_     That earned Pietro a slap across the cheek. “You think you are so funny,” he muttered. “But I am going to tell you again, in case you have forgotten. I prefer your company because your power is so  _ easy  _ to suppress. Just a couple binds and suddenly you are just like the rest of us. Us humans.” He shook his head. “Now, you might just be humans that miraculously developed powers, but I don't think that that's the case. I believe that you are something other than human. You and your twin.” _

_     “Yay,” Pietro muttered. “I'm  _ so  _ excited. _

_     He smirked. “I know you are. Because just any human cannot defeat Stark. And, honestly, before you met us, you were unremarkable. Just a couple of _ random  _ homeless kids.” He paused. “But I prefer your company because your sister makes me so  _ uncomfortable. _ Even when she's not trying to, she incites a natural fear response in people.” _

_     “So you're afraid of her.” _

_     He shook his head. “I'm afraid of what she can do. Besides, you're so much better at it.” _

_     A face leaned into his view. The man had wrinkles and greying, receding hair. _

_     Pietro had learned not to scream when he heard the sound of a zipper being undone. _

__ Charles was seated on Peter's bed when he awoke, breathing heavily and resting a hand on the boy's forehead.

    “You should have told me you were having nightmares,” Charles whispered.

    “Не говори. Разговоры приносят нам больше боли  _ (Do not speak. Conversions bring us more pain) _ ,” Peter replied.

    Charles paused. “What is your name?” he asked cautiously. 

    “Я Пьетро Максимофф, брат Ванды Максимофф  _ (I'm Pietro Maximoff, brother to Wanda Maximoff) _ ,” he replied as though it was obvious. “Вы Чарльз Ксавьер, не так ли  _ (You are Charles Xavier, are you not) _ ?”

    “да  _ (Yes) _ ,” Charles confirmed, stumbling over the foreign words. Erik had taught him basic phrases in all of the languages with which the man was familiar, but Charles remained uncomfortable in the different tongues. “Ты говоришь по-английски  _ (Do you speak English) _ ?”

    “Yes,”  Peter  Pietro(?) grunted. He smirked a little. “Американцы ожидают, что мы изучим их язык, если они не выучат наш язык  _ (Americans expect that we will learn their language if they do not learn our language) _ ,” he commented. 

    “I cannot speak your language, but I can understand it, and I can understand that you are mocking me,” Charles muttered.

_ Erik!  _ he called out with his mind.

    Charles could feel Erik groggily shaking off sleep.  _ Yes? _

_     Your son is experiencing some type of flashback and seems to prefer Russian. Can you help? _

_     Very well. _

Peter  Pietro(?) was babbling in Russian to himself. Apparently he had completely forgotten his earlier rule against speaking.

    “Просыпайся, сын мой. Вы оказались в ловушке во сне  _ (Wake up, my son. You are trapped in a dream) _ ,” Erik murmured, entering the room.

    “Ты не настоящая  _ (You are not real) _ ?”

    Erik shook his head. “Я настоящий. Вы помните наше время вместе  _ (I'm real. Do you remember our time together) _ ?”

    “Когда мы встретились, я вырвал тебя из тюрьмы и ... и меня звали Питер! Я Питер  _ (When we met, I tore you out of prison and ... and my name was Peter! I'm Peter) _ !”  Pietro Peter(?) exclaimed.

    “Да, мой сын. Твое имя Питер  _ (Yes, my son. Your name is Peter) _ ,” Erik reaffirmed.

    “Я Питер. Я Питер,” Peter repeated. “Я Питер.”

    Erik nodded, stroking his son's hair. He looked up at Charles, who had risen to his feet. “He is Peter again,” Erik informed him.

    Charles smiled a little, shaking his head. “Is this an identity crisis type of thing?”

    Peter shook his head urgently. “I am Peter!” he asserted. “Питер! Питер!”

    Charles leaned towards Erik. “It astounds me how easily the two of you can switch between languages.”

    Peter shrugged. “I'm equally fluent in both. It doesn't matter which I'm speaking. However, I _ cannot _ read in English. If I'm reading an English book in superspeed mode, I will finish the book at the same time as a native speaker at normal speed.”

    Charles's eyes widened. “That must take a lot of patience.”

    Erik, who could read and write in many different languages, was trying his best to look impressed.

    “S’okay,” Peter murmured. “I know you're smarter and older than me.”

    Erik grasped Peter's hand. “No. Well, yes, I'm older than you, but I'm _ not _ smarter than you.”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “Don't give me any of the ‘we're smart in different ways’ garbage. I'm just dumber than you.”

    Erik swallowed. “Peter, we've had different experiences. While you were taking care of your sister, helping her grow up as normal as possible, I was by myself, learning languages and hunting Nazis. I didn't have to worry about anyone other than myself. You  _ did. _ It's that simple.”

    “You're right,” Peter relented. “Wanda's the smart one. I'm the experienced one.”

    Erik exhaled a sigh of relief. “There you go. Я рад слышать, как ты это говоришь  _ (I'm glad to hear you say that) _ .”

    “Папочка  _ (Daddy) _ ?”

    “Да, Питер  _ (Yes, Peter) _ ?”

    “я люблю тебя  _ (I love you) _ .”

    A large smile broke out on Erik's face. “я тоже тебя люблю  _ (I love you too) _ .”

    Charles bit his lip. “Do you want me to leave?”

    Peter nodded. “Я хочу спать сейчас  _ (I want to sleep now) _ ,” he requested. “Спокойной ночи, папа. Спокойной ночи, Чарльз  _ (Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, Charles) _ .”

    Erik ran his fingers through Peter's hair. “Спокойной ночи, Питер. Сладкие Мечты  _ (Goodnight, Peter. Sweet dreams). _ ”

    “Goodnight,” Charles replied with a slight smile.


	21. What Peter told Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Peter don't get along... Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter, but I drew a picture of his new look, too!

Check out Peter's[ new look!](http://trombonistnicole.deviantart.com/art/Peter-Maximoff-668782825)

    When Peter bumped (literally) into Logan again, he had removed the duct tape (along with a bunch of hair). Clumps were asymmetrically missing from his dark sideburns, and there was a distinct line down his chest.

    “Lookin’ good!” Peter commented.

    Logan growled. “Watch your mouth, bub. I could slice you open like a fucking tomato.”

    Peter snorted. “Maybe, if you could land a single blow.”

    “Maybe I'll take it out on that Summers kid instead,” Logan offered.

    Peter shrugged. “I'm always within shouting distance. I could be there in less than a second. Besides, I'm pretty sure assaulting a student, unprovoked, is a one-way ticket out the door.”

    Logan widened his stance and stood up straighter, like he was trying to look bigger than he was. “You threatenin’ me, bub?”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “ _Please_ . _You_ were threatening _me_ . I'm just stating facts. Charles said that people could stay here _unless_ they meant the students harm.” He paused. “You attack Scott, you're breaking that rule.”

    Logan crossed his arms. “He's _constantly_ threatening me.”

    “Oh yeah? When was that? When he _asked_ you about your relationship with Jean and you sliced his chest open? Or was it earlier than that, when he was a little concerned that Jean was close to you after you slaughtered a bunch of people? Or maybe it's now, now that he's _scared_ of you because you're an out-of-control bastard with sharp claws that _apparently_ has a personal problem with him because Scott was defending his relationship. So when was he _constantly_ threatening you?” Peter snarled.

    “You're treading on _thin_ ice, bub,” Logan mumbled. “Besides, you're just gonna _run away_ as soon as I react to your attacks.”

    Peter scowled. “Look, I know you've had a shitty life. But that doesn't excuse being a terrible person to your _allies_ . You know who _else_ has had a shitty life? How about Erik? Or Wanda? Or Charles? News flash: having a sob story doesn't give you a get out of jail free card for being a mean person.”

    “Like you know fucking anything.”

    Peter leaned closer. “You know what I _do_ know? I know what it's like to grow up on the streets, half-starved. I know what it's like to be raped. I know what it's like to be tortured and experimented on. I know what it's like take dozens of bullets, all at once. I know what it's like to _die_ . So don't you dare assume _anything_ about me. Clear?”

    Logan took a step back. “Whatever, bub. You don't know anything, not really.”

    “Ты увидишь _(You'll see)_ ,” Peter growled. “Ты увидишь, что произойдет, если ты снова пересечешь меня _(You'll see what happens if you cross me again).”_

Logan made a disgusted face as he looked at Peter. “Fuck off.”

    “Иди нахуй сам, сукин сын _(Go fuck yourself, you son of a bitch)_ ,” Peter replied, somewhat calmly.

    Logan gave Peter another scathing glance before storming off.

 

    Erik began approaching Peter to see him trading insults with Logan. Peter seemingly won the argument, as he got in the last word and Logan was the one to walk away. Peter had said some nasty words, but he had the courtesy to say them in Russian so that passersby couldn't understand what he was saying. Logan was a little less considerate.

    Erik walked over to his son. “Hello, Peter,” he greeted.

    “Hey, dad!” he replied, a grin lighting up his face. “What's going on?”

    Erik smiled back. “You tell me. You were the one trading insults with Logan.”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “He thinks that he can get away with being a dick because he's had a hard life. I was just reminding him that a lot of the people here have had hard lives and they're not being dicks.”

    “Rather aggressively, I might add.”

    Peter sighed. “Well, he makes me angry and he was ignoring my points.”

    “Typically, people hear you better if you speak somewhat quietly. And in a language they can understand.”

    “Oh, no I got loud later on,” Peter explained. “And switched into Russian later on. I was pretty chill initially.”

    Erik nodded. “Makes sense. How was he being a… dick?”

    “Ah, just threatening me and students and just generally being a terrible person.”

    “He's bad for Jean,” Erik declared. “They should be separated.”

    “Well, yeah,” Peter agreed. He stepped forward to rest his forehead on his father's chest. “How, though?”

    Erik ran his fingers through Peter's hair. “I don't know,” he confessed. “I don't know how to help these students. Ugh. This is why _Charles_ has this job, not me.”

    Peter giggled. “True.”

    Erik kissed Peter's forehead. “I'm going to go play chess with Charles now.”

    Peter looked up at him. “Have fun, dad.”

    Erik hugged Peter. “I will. Прощай _(Goodbye)_.”

    “До встречи _(See you)_.”

    


	22. What Peter told Cherik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Cherik try and sort things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I actually like Logan. I just needed someone to villainize.

    “It's not my place to involve myself in students’ relationships,” Charles began. “But the prospect of Logan and Jean remaining together  _ does  _ unnerve me. I agree that he's bad for her.”

    Erik nodded. “Peter had a heated conversation with him earlier today. He said that Logan was threatening both him and the students.”

    Charles's eyes widened. “He was threatening the _ students _ ?”

    “Peter said that he was.”

    Charles furrowed his brow. “I  _ hope _ that Peter was mistaken in that claim. If two adults are feuding and want to take it outside, fine, just make sure there's no permanent damage. But I can't sit by if students fight, particularly if the fight is between a student and an  _ adult _ .”

    Erik sighed. “Do you want to talk to Logan or should I?”

    Charles chewed on his lip. “I… I think I should be the one to talk to him. And, please ask your son to back down. He's making this seem like a joke when it's very,  _ very _ serious.”

    “Why don't  _ you _ ask Peter to back down?” Erik teased.

    “You know he only listens to you,” Charles chuckled. 

 

    Erik entered Peter's room and inhaled sharply. Claw marks marred the walls and floor, plaster and carpeting peeling up. The bed was overturned, torn sheets spread out over the floor. A Pink Floyd poster was split in half, one half having floated to the floor with the blue tack still in it and the other partially draped over a hole. His goggles were broken beyond repair and most of his t-shirts were ruined on their broken hangers. A brand-new roll of duct tape was shredded, chunks of silver stuck all over the room.

    Erik lifted up a pair of earbuds with exposed wires and a bud ripped off. He looked up to see Peter in front of him, eyes red as he clutched a torn piece of paper.

    “Папа?” Peter asked.

    Erik put a hand on Peter's cheek. “Питер ... Я ... что случилось  _ (Peter… I… what happened) _ ?” he murmured, brushing away the moisture at the corner of Peter's eyes.

    “Логан трус  _ (Logan the coward) _ ,” Peter explained. “Я думаю, что это произошло, но я могу ошибаться  _ (I think it happened, but I can be wrong) _ .”

    “Я хочу сделать ему больно  _ (I want to hurt him) _ ,” Erik grumbled. 

    Peter grasped Erik's hand. “Папа?”

    Erik looked down at Peter's outstretched hand. The heavily damaged slip of pair appeared to be a worn photograph, but the faces on it were indiscernible. 

    “Моя семья ... мои родители из Соковии  _ (My family ... my parents from Sokovia) _ ,” Peter explained, fresh tears springing from his eyes.

    “Ich würde ihn töten, wenn ich wüsste wie, _ (I would kill him if I knew how) _ ,” Erik growled. He looked at Peter. “Where is he?”

    “Dad, don't leave me,” Peter begged. “Just stay here.”

    Erik nodded numbly. “I'm here,” he murmured, running his thumb along the wet streaks on Peter's cheek. “I'm here for you, now and always.”

    They sat down on the ruined floor. The only sounds in the destroyed room were Peter's breaths.

    “Their names were Marya and Django,” Peter murmured after a long pause. “They'd been married for a long time. Django knew we weren't his, but he loved us like we were. They never feuded over it, at least not as far as I know.”

    “They sound wonderful,” Erik replied. If he said that he remembered Marya, he would be lying, but she sounded nice enough. And her husband- he was supposedly a good father- better than Erik could have been. “I'm sorry about what happened.”

    Peter nodded. “Why would he do something like this?” he cried. “What the fuck is wrong with him?”

    “I don't know,” Erik admitted.

    “Я не могу понять это  _ (I cannot understand this) _ ,” Peter muttered.

    “Neither can I.” Erik draped his arm over Peter's shoulders.  _ Charles, it's getting worse. _

 

_     Charles, it's getting worse. _

_     What do you mean? _ Charles asked, stopping in his tracks.

_ Come to Peter's room. _

_ Very well _ , Charles agreed. He walked to Peter's room and entered without knocking. “Oh, dear.”

    “That's a mild reaction.” Peter sniffled.

    Charles took a couple steps into the room. “This… this can all be replaced. Don't worry, Peter.”

    Peter shook his head. “No, it can't.” His hand was shaking. “Some things are irreplaceable.” He pressed a limp piece of paper into Charles's hand.

    Charles turned it over and looked at it.

    He hugged Peter tightly.

    “I'll find a way to make this right,” Charles promised.

    “Dunno if it's possible,” Peter mumbled into Charles's shirt.

    Charles held Peter at arms length. “Do you suppose your sister has a similar photo?”

    He nodded. “It's at the Avengers Research Facility.” At Charles's grimace, Peter added, “She knows where it is. I-I could probably… break into it.” He looked at Charles. “Can I? Please?”

    Charles squeezed Peter's left shoulder. “Your father and I will talk about it.” He paused. “I don't think you can do it by yourself.”

    “Daddy?”

    Erik pressed his lips into a thin line. “I… I will think about it. If you're going, you're sure as hell not going alone.” He placed his hand on Peter's left shoulder, brushing his palm against Charles's retreating hand. Both men blushed slightly. 

    “You two are cute,” Peter commented.

    Erik cocked his head and Charles smiled.

    “We'll talk about it,” Erik repeated, having given up on interpreting the previous comment. “I love you.”

    “I love you, too,” Peter replied. 


	23. What Wanda told Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family tries to figure out how to retrieve Wanda's picture

    “We could ask for it back,” Peter suggested, looking at Erik with some amount of hope in his eyes. His hair was puffy from running his fingers through it too many times and his eyes were still a little red.

    “No,” Erik replied. “We can't risk it if they say no. Besides, what would be the excuse for that request?”

    Peter shrugged. “‘Hi, I knew Wanda's parents, can I have a copy of the picture of them?’” He shook his head. “No, you make a good point. If they say no… there'll be no way to get it, then. My powers rely a lot on the element of surprise.”

    “And we can't risk revealing your sister,” Erik added. “She's a fugitive. They might get suspicious.”

    “‘Cause stealing wouldn't make ‘em suspicious,” Peter muttered.

    “Not if you were never discovered,” Erik offered.

    Peter furrowed his brow. “I thought you said you wouldn't let me do it alone.”

    “You think I can't stay out of sight?”

    “There are cameras everywhere,” Wanda commented from the doorway. “There is no place in the entire facility that's out of sight. Agent Romanov told me so.” She sat down next to Peter on the couch and leaned on his shoulder.

    “Shit,” Peter grunted. “Wait, there are cameras in the bedrooms and bathrooms?”

    Wanda nodded, her forehead bumping lightly on Peter's neck. “But they were on privacy mode. People could only view them if there was a crime or something. I don't know what the specifications were- I just know that Stark couldn't usually view them.”

    “Stark is a fucking creeper nonetheless,” Peter muttered. “How to do this…” He looked up at Wanda. “You know the facility best. How do we do this?”

    “... And the people,” she murmured. “Stark may be willing to meet with you. Privately. Or, more accurately, he might be willing to meet with the professor.”

    “And he can convince Stark to give us the picture,” Peter finished. His gaze shifted to Erik. “What do you think of  _ that _ plan?”

    Erik twisted his lips in thought. “See… it's a good idea… but I don't know how Charles would feel about it.”

    Peter crossed his arms. “Well, can you convince him? Maybe gamble something with a chess game? Or mind-blowing sex?” 

    Erik nearly choked on his tea and Wanda burst into a fit of giggles.

    “Or a reasonable argument,” Wanda offered through her laughter. “Something around the lines of ‘hey babe, my son wants something from Tony Stark, can you go get it?’”

    “Babe?” Erik pondered. He shook his head, smiling slightly. “No matter. I will  _ paraphrase _ that.”

    Peter's hand shot up as though he was planning on answering a question. “Ooh! He can take me, as, like, his assistant or whatever and I can nab it while Stark's not looking.”

    Wanda smirked. “Pietro, you will not pass as an assistant. Besides, how will you find my room?”

    “I'm sorry, you got a better solution?”

    Wanda snapped her fingers. “Jean Grey. That girl got this ball rolling, right? Well, she can help fix some of the damage it has wrought.”

    Peter shook his head. “I don't trust that backstabbing bitch with squat.” He bit his lip as he looked out the window at the black sky, moonless sky. “I dunno. By the way, thanks for staying up with me.”

   “It's no problem,” Erik replied. “And I agree with you. You can just wear glasses and a hat of some sort. You could even dress like Hank does.”

    Peter gagged. “I'm sorry, what?” He shook his head. “I'll wear the hat and glasses, but I'm drawing the line at Hank-hood.”

    “Even though you're totally hot for him?” Wanda asked.

    “What-but the-I mean,” Peter spluttered. “Nonononono. I'm hot for  _ Beast. _ Not Hank.”

    Erik snapped his fingers. “Aha! So you agree with me, that mutation is beautiful.”

    Peter nodded. “I mean, Raven's totally hot too, but…”

    “... She's a girl,” Wanda finished. 

    “Yeah, pretty much. But yeah, Beast is totally hot.” Peter looked up at the sound of a sniffle at the door. Scott was standing in the door frame. “Scott!” Peter exclaimed.

    “Y-you think that mutated people are hot?” he asked. He was slouched a little and his nose was red.

    “I mean, yeah,” Peter muttered. “Not  _ exclusively _ , but- wait, why?”

    Scott shrugged. “N-no reason.” He hiccupped and wiped his finger under his glasses.

    “Jesus,” Peter swore. “Jesus fucking Christ. Scott, you  _ are  _ mutated. I-I mean, you're-”

    “Don't  _ pity _ me,” Scott interrupted. “Just be straight with me.”

    Peter hissed, a quick sound between his teeth. “Oh, Scott, I don't think I can do that.”

    “Why not?”

    Peter giggled. “I'm _ not straight _ . I'm _ gay _ .  _ I'm suuuper gay _ .” Peter was sure that he had just earned a major eye roll from Wanda, but his gaze was focused intently on Scott.

    “No shit you're gay!” Scott shouted. “But, oh, it's  _ all _ about you and your  _ mutated  _ boyfriends. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?”

    Tears welled up in Peter's eyes. “Scott,” he murmured shakily. “Scott, I…” 

    Peter bolted.

 

    “I fucked up,” Scott whispered. “I fucked everything up.”

    Wanda honestly didn't have a very high opinion of him. He seemed kind of needy and whiny, and he was weighing Pietro down. But she knew that Pietro had a high opinion of him, and that Pietro needed all the support he could get.

   “эрик! находка pietro и заботиться его  _ (Erik! Find Pietro and take care of him) _ ,” she ordered. Erik gave a quick nod and walked out of the room.

    “What're you doing?” Scott asked. “Jesus, I fucked up.”

    Wanda rolled her eyes. “So you made a mistake. Big deal. My brother is a forgiving person and he really cares about you. But he cannot currently handle any more stress. He is already dealing with a lot. Just be gentle with him in this time and you'll be  _ fine _ .”

    Scott sighed. “Do you really think so?”

    Wanda nodded. “ _ Yes _ . Just- just remember that he's been through a lot recently, too.”

    Scott wiped under his eyes. “Thank you.”

    Wanda rolled her eyes. “You can thank me by making my brother happy."


	24. What Jean told Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Peter sort their relationship out (kind of).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! I went on vacation and didn't have a ton of time to write.  
> I hope you enjoy!

    Erik found Peter crying in his room. He had righted one half of the bed and was seated on the bare mattress. The two-legged frame was tilted and part of the mattress was resting on the floor.

    “Peter,” he greeted, walking towards him carefully. He almost tripped three separate times in the seven feet from the door to the bed. “Hey.”

    Peter shifted and the mattress slid down the frame onto the floor. “Hey, dad.” He sniffed. “What's up?”

    “I was just checking up on you. It's my, and your sister's, job to smother you.” He sat down on the floor next to the mattress. Taking Peter's hand, he continued, “Are you OK?”

    He shrugged. “I'm gonna talk to Scott in a bit. We can sort everything out.”

    Erik nodded. “I'm glad to hear it. I suppose you are probably old enough to solve your own problems.” He squeezed Peter's hand. “But I'll always be here for you.”

    Peter nuzzled his face into Erik's neck. “Thanks, dad.”

    Erik hugged him. “It's my job.” 

    They sat in silence for about ten minutes.

    Erik planted a kiss on the top of Peter's head. “I'm going to talk to Charles now.”

    Peter smiled. “And I'll talk to Scott.”

    Erik entered Charles's bedroom. Due to the man's outward appearance, one might assume that his room was clean. This was not the case. Papers and books covered every flat surface and some had fallen to the floor. Dirty clothes were tumbling over the edge of his laundry hamper.

    Erik lied down next to Charles on the bed they shared. Charles was shirtless and was facing away from Erik with the duvet only covering up to his waist. He looked peaceful enough that Erik was tempted to let him sleep, but he needed to speak with him.

    “Charles,” Erik murmured in his ear.

    Charles made a noise, presumably out of displeasure, and curled into a ball.

    “Charles,” Erik repeated, tapping his shoulder. 

    “Mmmmh,” Charles groaned. “Whassit?”

    “Can we talk?”

    Charles lifted his head to look at him. “What kinda talk?”

    “It's about Peter.”

    That seemed to wake Charles up. “What about him?” he asked. “Is everything OK?”

    “Do you remember the situation regarding his picture?” 

    Charles sat up and nodded his head. “What about it?”

    Erik clicked his tongue. “We may have found a way to solve the problem.”

    “But it implicates me,” Charles guessed.

    “Yes.”

    Charles smiled a little. “Does this involve smuggling Peter into the facility and chatting with Mr. Stark while he steals it?”

    “Yes, that's exactly what it is.” He paused. “So? What are your thoughts? Can you do it?”

    Charles reached up as though he intended to run his fingers through his hair and then lowered it with a slight pout. “I-I’ll think about it.”

    Erik leaned forward and gave Charles a quick kiss. “I'm glad to hear it. Goodnight.”

    “Goodnight.”

    They fell asleep curled together, Erik's chest pressed against Charles's back and his arm draped over Charles's side.

 

    The room was messy, with dirty clothes all over the floor and the bed unmade. A high shelf was covered in dust and a potted succulent sat on the windowsill- Echeveria? Peter didn't know how he knew that; he tended to absorb random information without actually paying attention.

    He sat down on the large bed. A pair of glasses were sitting on the nightstand, presumably a spare, alongside a long strip of white cloth and a small, lit up lamp. There was a stuffed bear hidden under the covers, as though the owner didn't want the bear to be seen. Peter pulled the bear out from under the covers and studied it. It was fuzzy and tan, with black buttons for eyes and an embroidered pink nose. One ear was missing and parts of the fabric were threadbare. He hugged it.

    The aforementioned owner opened the door quietly. “Peter?”

    “Hey,” Peter greeted, setting the bear down gently.

    Scott took a couple steps toward him. “Are you mad at me?” He noticed the bear and blushed. 

    Peter shook his head. “Are you mad at me?” He glanced at the bear as well.

    Scott smiled a little. “Of course not.” He closed the distance between them and embraced him, Peter's face in Scott's chest. 

    Peter tugged on Scott's hand. “Sit down,” he requested.

    Scott obliged and took Peter's hands. “What are we doing?”

    Peter smirked. “Well, I was hoping to stay the night. That cool?” 

    “Of course it is. We've done that before.”

    He handed the bear to Scott. “He's cute. What's his name?”

    Scott flushed. “Alex.” He set it down behind him. “My brother gave it to me before he left for the war.”

    “Oh.” Peter wasn't sure how to respond to that.

    Scott rested his head on Peter's head. “D’ya want to do anything?”

    Peter lied down. “Nah. I'm tired. I just wanna sleep.”

    “Sounds good,” Scott agreed. He walked back over to the door and turned the overhead light off. Sitting back down, he traded the glasses out for the cloth. He fumbled with the lamp switch before turning it off.

    “Let's cuddle,” Peter suggested.

    “Good plan.” Scott snuggled up to him. “Night.”

    “G'night.”

 

    “I don't understand,” Logan grunted.

    “From what I can tell, you always have your memories, but you're switching between your current self and some other time. Like… like multiple personality, but… all the personalities are all you,” Jean described. “Like there's an alternate self, probably from the past, that doesn't act like you do.”

    “So that's why I'm sometimes mean.”

    She nodded.

    “Can you… can you fix it?” he asked. 

    She cocked her head. “I'm worried I might cause more damage. We can ask Charles tomorrow.” She paused. “And you should apologize.”

    He sighed. “Yeah, I will. But I don't wanna switch in the middle of an apology. More importantly, I don't wanna switch while I'm with you. You should probably stay away while I sort this out.”

    She shook her head. “I'm sticking by you for this. Besides, you only act hostile to those you perceive as a threat. You have no reason to view me as a threat. And I can also control your mind if you try to hurt me.”

    He squeezed her hand. “Promise you'll do that if worse comes to worst.” 

   She sighed, her brow furrowed in thought.

    “Promise!” he demanded.

    She nodded. “I promise.”

    He kissed her forehead. “I'm going to my room now. Goodnight.”

    She smiled. “Goodnight.”


	25. What Charles told Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Peter execute their plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late! I got caught up on school work and couldn't write anything good enough to be in this story.   
> I hope you enjoy anyway!

    In theory, he  _ should  _ be a good driver. After all, he was smart, he was hard to irritate, and he had the fastest reaction time in the world.

    In practice, he was terrible.

    Charles supposed it was a product of his mutation, his impatience and recklessness. He was used to his actions having few repercussions, that he could always bail. So, driving a car, an activity that most definitely had potential repercussions, wasn't very good for him.

    Especially considering that he went as fast as the car would go and swerved violently through traffic.

    Charles honestly had been less terrified for his life than when En Sabah Nur had been attacking him.

 

    “That drive was  _ so long _ ,” Peter whined when they got out of the car. Even though he didn't actually need it, Charles sat down in the wheelchair that Peter offered him. They  _ were  _ trying to make this look normal, after all.

    “No, it was short, very short, thanks to your, frankly, scary driving,” Charles replied.

    A man with vibrant magenta skin emerged from a wall and Peter shrieked. 

    “I'm terribly sorry,” he apologized in a pleasant voice. “You must be Professor Xavier,” he greeted, approaching him and offering his hand to shake.

    “Yes, I am. And this is my assistant, Peter.”

    The man turned to look at Peter, who had tucked his  _ very  _ noticeable silver hair into a beanie. “Hello, Peter.” He looked back at Charles. “I am the Vision. Tony sent me to fetch you.”

    “Thank you,” Charles said. Peter followed him, pushing his wheelchair.

    When they arrived in what appeared to be a living area, Tony Stark stood up from a couch. “Hey!” he greeted. “I'm Tony. You must be Xavier and, uh… OK, who is he?”

    “I'm Peter,” Peter said a little too quickly.

    “Excuse me?”

    “I'm Peter,” he repeated, more slowly. “His assistant.”

    Tony nodded. “Awesome. Vision, can you take him… somewhere else while we discuss things?” he requested.

    Vision nodded and led Peter away.

    “Ok, I have to ask: why is  _ he  _ your personal assistant? He doesn't seem like a good choice,” Tony asked as soon as Peter was out of earshot.

    Charles sighed. This was  _ not  _ where he was expecting the conversation to go, and it was exactly what they were trying to avoid in the conversation. “I know his- I'm his stepfather,” he stated. “He has… issues, and it helps him if he feels useful. I don't actually  _ need _ a personal assistant. Except to drive me places. I need a driver.”

    Tony furrowed his brow. “Really? You seem too young to be his stepfather. Also, what do you mean by ‘issues?’”

    Charles smiled. “I'm flattered. His parents were rather young when they had him. It will be good for him to have more than one potential male role model- his first stepfather and biological mother are unfortunately dead. He is a recovering kleptomaniac, he has anxiety problems, very severe ADHD, and PTSD.”  _ All completely true. _

    “Ah,” he muttered, not sure how to respond to that. He cocked his head. “So you married his… biological father?”

    “We're not legally married, but we are together. Is that a problem?”

    Tony shook his head urgently. “No! No, of course not.” He paused. “It just… surprises me, is all.”

    “Do I not fit your stereotype?” he chuckled.

    Tony shrugged. “I don't know. I don't normally lend to stereotypes, but you just seem…  _ so  _ straight.”

    Charles smiled. “Well, I have only ever been with one man, and many women.”

    “I'm bi, too,” Tony admitted. “Holy shit, this is not what we were going to discuss. Wait, what were we going to discuss?”

    “Wheelchair,” Charles reminded him. “Dr McCoy wants to create a wheelchair that is able to travel up and down stairs without difficulty, and we're seeking your advice. We believe that the utilization of repulsors is the best option, and there is no one that knows repulsors better than you.”

    “So a wheelchair that isn't a  _ wheel _ chair?”

    Charles nodded.

    “That sounds cool and useful. I'd love to help- on one condition: you allow me to sell it. I'll give you a commission of… 20%,” Tony offered.

    “The commission plus as many wheelchairs as the students at my school need. The students have… special needs.” There was a girl whose legs always fell off when she tried to walk, an unfortunate part of her ability to regrow limbs, and a boy who was born with tentacles that could not support his weight instead of legs.

    Tony nodded. “Sounds good.”

    Vision reentered the room  _ without  _ Peter. “I have lost track of Peter and I am unable to find him,” he informed them.

    Charles sighed. “He probably just got bored and wandered off. He'll turn up soon, asking either for food or when we're going to leave.”

    Tony smirked slightly. “Uh, FRIDAY, where is Peter?”

    “He is wandering through Hall E and looking in the rooms,” she informed him, then brought up high-resolution security feed. 

    Peter was walking at the pace of a normal human being (this impressed Charles) and opening all the doors. There was a slight flash in every room that he looked in, but nobody would assume anything if they weren't aware of his abilities.

    “Could you call him?” Tony asked, looking at Charles.

    Charles nodded and grabbed his cellphone (he almost just put this fingers to his temple, but he remembered just before he did so). Raising his cellphone to his ear after tapping the screen a couple of times, he put this fingers on his temple.

_ Shitnoit’snotinhere Where else can I look? Ooh, next door. Ohmygodfairylightsshementionedfairylightsthisistotallyherroomohandit'sinthenightstandyayIfoundit. Oh, hi Charles.  _ Charles glanced at the video feed and he was standing outside Wanda's room, holding his phone to his ear.

    “Peter, would you come here, please?” He was conveying the same request mentally.  _ Did you find it? _

    “Sure thing, Charles,” he replied.  _ Yes, I found it. _

_     That's good to hear.  _ “Thank you, Peter.”

    Peter barely stopped himself from running full tilt and began to walk back to their location. 

_ Put your phone away,  _ Charles thought to him.

    Peter lowered his phone, tapped a button, and put it back in his pocket. Charles also put his phone away. 

    “Hey!” Peter greeted as he entered the room.

    “Why were you in that hallway?” Tony asked.

    He shrugged. “I got bored. I didn't mess with anything though.”

    Tony looked suspicious. “Did you steal anything?”

    Peter's eyes widened. “No, man, of course not! I stole stuff as a teenager, but not anymore!”

    “Why should I believe you?”

    Charles sighed. “This isn't how he looks when he's stolen something. I know because I knew him when he was younger. Right after he's stolen something, he looks proud and, quite frankly, rather happy.”

    “That's… kind of disturbing but also reassuring,” Tony muttered.

    Peter rolled his eyes. “Why'd you  _ tell  _ him about this stuff, Charles?”

    “Because he asked and I'm an honest person.”

    “Ugh, Charles, honest  _ does not equal _ having to share everything,” Peter groaned.

    Charles shrugged. He turned Tony. “I’m afraid we have to leave now. I'll be in touch.”

    Tony nodded. “Next time, send Dr McCoy!”

    “Of cou-” Hank's very blue, and quite possibly permanent state (thanks to Peter) would receive an… interesting reaction, Charles realized. “Um, he doesn't work well with others. It may be best to communicate electronically.”

    “... Why?”

    Charles chewed on his lip. “He has… crippling social anxiety.”

    Tony winced. “That's unfortunate.”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let's go. No Hank, sorry Tony, we'll be in touch, bye.” He grabbed the handles of Charles's wheelchair. 

    “Some of  _ his _ anxiety is social, too,” Charles mouthed at Tony.

    Tony nodded. “Special people, right.”

    Charles nodded. “Special people.”


	26. What Tony told Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Charles get back and Tony chats with a synthezoid and a computer interface.

    “It's… it's like Pietro,” Tony murmured, looking at the video footage. Slowing it down, he could see a vaguely man-shaped flash in every room Peter had looked in. He looked up at Vision. “Vis? Do we happen to have Pietro's DNA laying around? Or fingerprints? Peter left his DNA and fingerprints everywhere.”

    Vision looked at him. “You want to compare their DNA to see if they are related?”

    Tony shrugged. “FRIDAY, run a facial comparison on them.”

    “Completely different,” she reported. She brought up images of each man's face on the TV. “Including eye color and skin tone. Although…” she zoomed in on Peter's eye and compared it to Pietro’s. “Their irises have the same pattern, but in different colors.” She shifted the view to the side of Peter's head. A lock of distinctively silver was hanging out from under his beanie. “They also have different hair colors, but without view of Peter's roots, it cannot be determined whether or not the natural color is the same. His eyebrows are black, but he may have been wearing makeup.”

    “Pietro bleached his hair, so there's no reason Peter couldn't have dyed it,” Tony agreed. “Their names are pretty similar. Can we find Peter's face in any databases?”

    “Hold on,” FRIDAY said. She brought up an image of two men standing in an elevator with a man duct taped to the wall behind them. “The man on the left is Erik Lehnsherr, AKA Magneto. The other man is Peter. This picture was taken at the Pentagon two years ago, from which Lehnsherr escaped with Peter's assistance. Peter demonstrated incredible abilities of speed, stripping that man, binding him to the wall, and donning his clothing in less than a second. The footage was recorded but not accessible due to hacking. Peter was a wanted man for about a year and a half before officials abandoned the effort. His hair, as you can see, was silver with silver roots and eyebrows at the time.”

    Tony chewed on his lip. “Is his name known?”

    “I'm afraid not. It is possible that he has taken on a different name, since I cannot locate anyone matching his description under the name Peter.”

    Tony chuckled. “Are you looking at every single American named Peter right now?”

    “Yes,” FRIDAY affirmed. “Would you like for me to widen the search to the entire world?”

    “Nah. I think this might be Pietro, somehow. Did he take a bullet to the face?”

    FRIDAY brought up a map of the human body and indicated the locations of all the bullets.

    “Awesome. So he did take a bullet to the face, and the throat, which… might change his voice. Did he have a very,  _ very  _ slight Russian accent, or was it my imagination?” Tony asked.

    “His vocal patterns do mirror those of a Russian. His posture is relatively similar to Pietro’s. He is the exact same height,” FRIDAY confirmed.

    “Hmmm… Vision, did Wanda ever say anything about her parents? Anything about her father being adopted?”

   Vision nodded. “She mentioned that, though their father wasn't biological, he always treated them as though he was, but never lied to them about it, and that the son of a bitch that ditched their biological mom would not have ever compared to him.”

    Tony sighed. “Shift the Peter investigation to top priority.”

    “You want me to stop looking for Captain Rogers?” FRIDAY asked.

    “Letting go would be healthy,” Vision added.

    “Yeah.” Tony missed Cap more than anything, but… he wasn't coming back. The sooner he accepted that, the sooner he could get over it. “Let's investigate this Peter guy.”

 

    As soon as Charles and Peter returned, Wanda tackled Peter in a hug. 

    “Pietro!” she greeted. “How did it go?”

    He held up the picture and grasped at her hand. She intertwined her fingers with his and kissed his cheek.

    “Awesome. Now let's make several copies and put them in different places and scan it, too,” she suggested, eyes gleaming. She looked fairly happy, but he could see something going on in the back of her mind.

    He nodded. “Sounds good.” He wasn't sure whether to ask what was wrong, or leave it alone.

    A shadow passed over her face. She looked up at him, clearly about to tell him without prompt. “Pietro… how was Vision?”

    He chewed on his lip in thought. “Well… he seemed OK, but… a little sad.” 

    Wanda lowered her head and Peter wrapped her into his embrace. He kissed the top of her head.

    “C'mon, let's get inside. It looks like it's about to rain,” he encouraged.

    She followed him inside, releasing his hand. She took a couple steps away from him when he got inside. He glanced back, but didn't question her. Erik stood, waiting, in the foyer.

    “Dad!” Peter exclaimed and zipped over to him. “Hey, dad. I'm surprised you're not with Charles right now.”

    “I wanted to talk to you,” Erik explained. He wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulders and kissed his hairline. “How's everything going?”

    “Great!” He pulled the photo out of his pocket and handed it to Erik to look. “See?” He paused. “But Wanda's sad ‘cause she misses her boyfriend.”

    Erik looked up at her. She was hugging her chest tight as if she was cold, but the way her shoulders were hunched and her eyes were downcast told a different story. She met Erik's eyes before jerking her head away. She scowled a little and stormed away, muttering something about going to her room or going to bed or something.

    “She'll recover,” Peter commented. She just needs time alone.”

    Erik kissed Peter's hairline again. “You should probably go to bed, too. You've had a long day. Let me deal with the picture, K?”

    Peter smiled a little. “Thanks, dad. I love you!”

    “I love you too, Peter,” Erik replied, the corners of his lips upturned. 


	27. What Tony told Hank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a chat with Hank and Wanda shows Peter his new room.

    “I have discovered something, sir,” FRIDAY reported after three days of tireless searching.

    “Hit me,” Tony replied, looking up from his beer bottle. 

    “Satellite footage over a mansion in Westchester loops old footage. This is a very advanced system, as there are many combinations of videos  _ nearly _ flawlessly blended together to best reflect the weather of the surrounding area. However, this footage shows children appearing and disappearing from time to time, and there are occasional blips, as though a couple seconds of footage were cut out,” FRIDAY explained.

    “Show me,” Tony ordered. He stood up and walked over to the TV. The screen lit up and began to show a montage of zoomed in shots on children disappearing and quick blips in the video. “Counteract the hacker and show me the live footage.”

    “Very well.” There was a brief pause before the footage began flickering. “The original hacker is resisting.”

    Tony rolled his eyes. “Hack the hacker's computer while you're at it and put him or her on the screen. Maybe we can talk.”

    “Of course.” She loaded up camera feed from the computer, but the screen was entirely darkened mustard yellow. “It appears that he has manually covered the camera.”

    “Hey, buddy!” Tony shouted.

   A low growl sounded from the speaker. “Who is this?” a deep, rumbling voice asked. The screen went completely black, as if someone had just put on another layer of covering to the camera.

    “Tony Stark!” he greeted. “Pleased to meet you. Who am I talking to?”

    The other man sighed. “My name's Henry.”

    “Henry what?”

    He grunted. “Just Henry. What do you want?”

    “You work for Professor Xavier, right?” Tony asked. 

    “I would say that I work  _ with  _ Professor Xavier, but, yes, I am involved with the school. Why?” Henry's deep voice was growing sharp with irritation.

    Tony grinned. “Great. Can I get a video chat? I wanna talk.”

    “I'm busy,” Henry snapped. 

    “Busy hacking satellites?” Tony suggested, growing a little aggressive himself. Very few of the people who had been unimpressed with his status were good people.

    Henry snarled, an animalistic noise. “What do you know?” he demanded.

    Tony threw up his hands, even though Henry couldn't see him. “Just that you've been replaying old satellite footage. It's impressive, I have to say. Were you the one who contributed to the Pentagon breakout?”

    Henry let out another animalistic outburst. “You should drop this  _ now _ .”

    “Hey, hey, I'm working with the professor and Dr McCoy on a project and some little hacker is not gonna get in my way. No matter  _ what _ you sound or look like,” Tony replied, his voice filled with venom. “And I also found out that you're housing a  _ super powered _ criminal.”

    “Peter?” Henry asked.

    So he already knew. That didn't really surprise Tony, seeing as Henry was most likely the one who helped Peter break Magneto out of jail. “Yeah, that's the one. And I've got a picture of him and his location, so… do you want to get reported?”

    “For housing a criminal? Something tells me you don't actually want that kid to get arrested.”

    Tony paused. Henry was right; Tony didn't want Peter to get arrested. Especially not if it was actually Pietro. “So… can I schedule an appointment with Professor Xavier?”

    Henry scoffed. “You  _ just  _ met with him.”

    “Yeah, at my house. I wanna go to his,” Tony explained.

    Tony could practically  _ hear _ Henry rolling his eyes. “Call the office like a normal person.”

    “Sir, he is somehow able to keep me out, even as he converses with you,” FRIDAY reported.

    “Yep,” Henry muttered. “Keep your robot girlfriend out of here.”

    Tony spluttered. “Girlfriend?”

    “Or  _ whatever  _ she is,” Henry grunted. “The point is that I don't think you want to prolong this because I'll most likely start hacking your system. My patience is running out and I want to resume my work.”

_ This guy is going up against  _ FRIDAY _ , a fucking robot. Successfully.  _ “Hey… how would you like an occupation change?” Tony offered, hopeful. Vision was great and all, but Tony somewhat tired of his company.

    “No,” Henry grunted.

    Tony rolled his eyes. “You can't _ possibly _ think that you're in the best job.”

    “I am in the best job. I have students that care for me, I have friends, I have free food and board year long. I have an income. What else do I need?” Henry pointed out. “Yes, you're infinitely more wealthy than I am, but you're  _ not  _ happier.”

    That was a little too accurate. “I-I mean,” he spluttered.

    “You're not,” Henry finished. “You are not happy. Why would I want more money and unhappiness than less money and happiness?”

    “I… I don't know,” Tony replied softly.

    Henry sighed. “Let up or I'll get the entire computer programming team on your network’s ass. And several of them are almost as good as I am.”

    Tony grimaced. “FRIDAY, stop. Good day, Henry.”

    “Bye,” Henry grunted.

    Tony looked up at Vision. “Where does Xavier  _ find _ these people?”

 

    “So, we've replaced all the worthless stuff that was in your room,” Wanda began. “And now you've replaced the only thing of value. So now we're good.”

    Peter entered the room to which she was gesturing. They had moved him to a different room, a couple doors down, as the room itself was also damaged.

    It was too… nice. The room was the same size and shape, and had all the same stuff, but that was where the similarities stopped. Everything seemed to have a place, all the clothes were hung up in an orderly fashion (and Peter couldn't help but notice that a couple of the shirts looked more like his original style than his current one), the bed was perfectly made, and the posters were crisp and fully attached to the walls.

    He threw his arms around her shoulders. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

   Her face lit up with a smile. “Of course, Pietro.” She paused. “This is going to stay tidy for about 30 seconds, isn't it?”

    “Of course not! And by that, I mean, I'll try to keep it clean.” Peter asserted. “But you're probably right. I have my strengths. Cleanliness is  _ not  _ one of them.”


	28. What Erik told Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes to the school.

    Erik stared at the photo, trying to figure out what to say. Magda, Peter's mom, was wonderfully kind and special. But he had never felt bad when she left him. Sokovia wasn't a victim of any major wars, and it was a very pleasant country. Or it _ seemed _ like a pleasant country. 

    How could he justify not looking for her? He _ did _ go hunting those who had hurt him and his family, thus preventing them from hurting anyone else. But this, in turn, hurt his own family, albeit a family he had never known and a family that was theoretically happier without him.

    “You don't have to apologise again,” Peter muttered. “I don't expect anything out of you on this.”

    Erik looked down at Peter, who had cuddled up to him and put his head in his father's lap. “Why?”

    Peter shrugged. “That was a  _ long  _ fucking time ago, dad. I'm over it. It doesn't hurt me anymore. I just don't want to forget their faces. That's why I wanted the picture,” he admitted, then paused. “But Wanda might expect something from you.”

    Erik grimaced. Wanda  _ was  _ the less forgiving of the two, and didn't already have a bond with him, so she probably would want something from him. Some kind of reaction, he guessed. “What should I say to her?”

    “Well… if she doesn't bring it up, don't bring it up. Hopefully she won't mind that,” he suggested.

    Erik nodded. “Fair enough,” he agreed. He ruffled Peter's hair. “It was brown in the picture. What happened?”

    “I don't know. I guess it just turned silver one day. For a while, I had it bleached and only the roots were brown, but after the battle… when I woke up, it was silver,” he explained.

    “OK. Well, I think it looks good,” Erik stated.

    “Thanks, dad.”

    “No problem.”

 

    “Put the suit in the trunk,” Tony ordered. “If this isn't a school, I want to be ready.”

    “If I may, sir, I don't believe the Professor will appreciate a visit at 9:00 PM,” FRIDAY pointed out.

    Tony shrugged. “Whatever. I'm going today.” It had been three days since the Professor's visit, and he was getting impatient with the lack of response.

    Tony could practically  _ hear _ FRIDAY grimacing, but she didn't object.

    He got in the car, STARK4, and drove to the mansion, speeding ridiculously. When he exited the car, he admired the mansion. It was very grand, and, while it was old-fashioned, it looked brand new. He couldn't make out many details in the dark, but he could tell that many of the lights were off. He knocked on the door and it swung open less than five seconds later. 

    “Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter greeted. He was dressed in a loose Rush T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, and there was indeed a mop of silver hair on his head. “How can I help you?”

    “I wanted to visit the Professor's house. He visited mine, after all. I figured he could return the favor.”

    “It is… 9:30 PM,” Peter replied, cocking his head a little.

    “Yeah, well I figured I'd visit today,” Tony explained

    “Dad!” Peter called, looking behind him. 

    A tall man, still fully dressed in a black turtleneck and black pressed slacks came to the door. He looked a little angry. He had short brown hair and a ginger beard. “Yes?” he asked, then looked at Tony. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

    “He thinks he's entitled to a visit because we visited his place,” Peter explained, looking at Tony somewhat bitterly.

    The man looked at Tony again. “Well, you're not.”

    “Let me in or I'll make you,” Tony growled. “I'm not in the mood for games.”

    The man smirked. “Good. Neither am I. Now go.”

    Tony tried to take a step forward, but his feet weren't cooperating. He tried again, but he couldn't move. His wrist seemed pinned in place as well. “What's going on?”

    “Don't come to this school seeking trouble, Mr. Stark,” Peter suggested. “It's just not a good idea.”

    “Why? Because  _ you  _ have superpowers?” 

     Peter shrugged. “Because it runs in the family.”

    The man flashed a shark-like grin. 

    A teenager holding a white cloth and wearing red sunglasses came down the stairs. “Peter?” he asked, sounding worried.

    Peter turned around. “Please go back to your room, Scott,” he requested.

    “What's going on?” he murmured, walking closer.

    Peter closed the distance and gave him a one-armed hug. He pressed a kiss to Scott's temple. “I'll be there soon,” he murmured. “Don't worry.”

    Scott looked at Tony. “I hope you're not looking for trouble.”

    “Everyone is saying that,” Tony muttered. “Why?”

    “Because you'll sure as hell get it,” Scott replied. He kissed Peter's cheek. “Don't take too long.”

    “I won't,” Peter promised. 

    Scott ascended the staircase. “Goodnight, Peter's dad!” he called from the top.

    The man chuckled. “And my new name is Peter's dad.”

    “I don't think he knew what else to call you, dad,” Peter muttered. He lowered his voice and whispered something in his ear.

    The man nodded. “Now get off our property,” he growled.

    Tony took his glasses out of his pocket and donned them. They scanned the man's face.

    “That's Erik Lehnsherr,” FRIDAY informed him in his earpiece. 

    “So he's housing  _ two _ fugitives,” Tony muttered, loud enough for the pair to hear.

    The earpiece flew to  _ Magneto’s _ hand and he looked at it. “This looks expensive. I'll have Hank look at it.”

    Peter snatched it out of his hand and put in his ear. Suddenly, Tony's glasses were on his face. “Whoa,” he muttered. He looked at Magneto. 

    Tony pushed forward and found that he was able to. “Let me in,” he demanded.

    “Very well,” Magneto relented. 

_ What the fuck? Why did he just give in out of nowhere? _

    “I'm sure you want a tour, right?” Erik asked, with a fake, closed mouth smile.

_ I think I've made a terrible mistake.  _ “Yeah, sure.”

    Magneto led him inside. Peter zipped away, then reappeared 5 seconds later. “I let Charles know you're here,” he explained. He looked at his father. “Can I go hang out with Scott?” he requested. 

    Magneto pressed his lips into a thin line. “Define  _ hang out _ .”

    Peter shrugged. “I dunno exactly where we stand, but I'm thinking cuddling and/or making out. Clothes on, I swear.”

    Magneto sighed. “Very well. Have fun, but not too much fun.” He kissed his forehead. “Good night.”

    “Night, dad!” Peter disappeared.

    “Soooo… gay son, too?”

    “I don't know.”

    Tony looked at him incredulously. “You don't know your own son's sexual orientation?”

    “He has only ever mentioned to me attraction to other males,” Magneto stated plainly.

    “That's nice,” Tony replied. He studied Magneto’s face. “Y'know, for being Magneto, you're a lot less murder-y than I expected.”

    Magneto furrowed his brow. “Do you  _ want _ me to be murderous?” He shook his head. “I don't just  _ randomly _ kill people. If you break out that suit of armor in your car, I might choose to crush your skull with it.”

    Tony winced. “Yeah, I will not be doing that.”

    The elevator dinged and Charles rolled out of it. “Hello, Tony. Thank you for not calling ahead,” he greeted with what looked like an actual smile.

    “You weren't returning my calls,” Tony replied. “I kept getting a… secretary or something who said you were busy.”

    “My deepest apologies. That was most likely either Jubilee or Scott, recent graduates of the school who are raising money for higher education. I do my best to fund them, as many have been cut off by their parents, but I can only do so much without work in return,” he explained. “I will ask them about it.”

    Tony sighed. Something told him that he wasn't going to get many straight answers in his tour.


	29. What Tony told Charles's people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets a little tour and a lot of sass.

    “Hey, Scott,” Peter greeted, then processed his surroundings. Jean was seated on Scott's bed and he seemed uncomfortable in her presence. “What's she doing here?”

    Scott shrugged. “Apologizing for her stupid ancient way too old for her boyfriend.”

    “You're one to talk!” Jean exclaimed. “You're dating an adult, too!”

    “OK… A) I act way too young for my age, and B) Logan's like 150 years old. I'm 23. That's a five-year age gap vs. your… 132 year age gap,” Peter explained. “I don't think it's comparable.”

    Jean furrowed her brow. “I thought you were, like, 27. That's how old you _said_ you were.”

    “Yeah, that was a lie. If you hadn't been a bitch, you would know that ‘cause I told, like, everyone else,” Peter muttered. “As was my real name, and my place of origin, and my level of schooling, and my life experiences.”

    “Your level of schooling? What are you talking about?” Jean demanded.

    Peter rolled his eyes and zipped over to Scott. He draped an arm over his shoulders, and Scott leaned into him. “I _did_ graduate from high school. It was just a shitty high school and I got straight D's and our version of English was русский ( _Russian)_ so my English reading skills are shit. We just had to know how to _speak_ English. And most of us also learned Română _(Romanian)_ .” He kissed Scott's temple. “I'm trilingual. Так что отвали. Вы меня не знаете _(So back off. You do not know me)._ ”

    Jean stood up. “I'll see you around, Scott,” she growled.

    “Get out of my room,” he replied bitterly.

    She stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

    “Bitch,” Scott muttered, but he was clearly on the verge of tears. He somehow managed to scoot closer to Peter. “Can you grab the blindfold?”

    Peter nodded and rushed out from the cuddly position, grabbed it, and rushed back fast enough that Scott didn't even feel the movement. “Close your eyes,” he murmured. Scott obliged, and Peter replaced the goggles with the blindfold.

    “Stay,” Scott requested.

    “Of course,” Peter replied, and turned off the light. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

 

    “And this is the hallway where most of the children sleep,” Charles continued. Tony was getting a little sick of having his real questions blown off.

    A red-haired girl opened a door angrily, stormed out, and slammed the door behind her.

    “Hello, Jean,” Charles greeted, grimacing a little. “Did your conversation with Scott go well?”

    She sighed. “Peter showed up and yelled at me, effectively ending the conversation with Scott. Couldn't you have held him off a little longer?”

    “It's not my job to solve drama, Jean. You should have expected such a reaction. I'm surprised Scott didn't lash out at you.”

    She rolled her eyes. “Goodnight, Professor,” she grunted, before stomping away.

    Tony looked at Charles. “What was that about?”

    “Young adult drama,” he replied, looking slightly irritated.

    “You know, she used to be one of my favorites,” Magneto commented. “And then she cheated on her boyfriend, which is still bothering him and subsequently his new boyfriend, who happens to be my son.”

    “Why are you telling me this?” Tony asked.

    Magneto smirked. “Well, you didn't believe it was a regular school, did you? Do you believe it now?”

    Tony shrugged. “Super-kid school probably has the same amount of drama. Why wouldn't it?”

    “... Super-kid school?” Magneto questioned. “What does that even mean?”

    “Well, I'm thinking a disproportionately large percentage of people here are superheroes,” Tony guessed.

    “Yes. Absolutely. Kitty is a superhero. She's also ten,” Magneto snarked. “Oh, and Bobby. How old is he, Charles?”

    “Eight,” Charles replied with a small smile.

    Tony rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant. I meant the teachers or whatever. _I'm_ thinking that Magneto and Peter aren't the only superpowered people here.”

    A very gruff looking man, probably in his mid-thirties, with a ridiculous gelled up haircut and muttonchops walked over. “Hey Charles, where's the beer?”

    “Logan, this is a school,” Charles scolded. “We don't have any.”

    Magneto glared at him. “Get out of my sight or I'll make you,” he growled.

    “Do you wanna go?” Logan snarled.

    Magneto smirked. “You can't hurt me and you know it. Back off.”

    Logan bared his teeth and emitted an animalistic growl. “Fine,” he grunted. “Get the kids to leave me alone.”

    “Oh, trust me, they don't want to see you any more than I do.”

    Logan gave up and backed away before leaving altogether.

    “How much drama are we talking?” Tony muttered. “Lots?”

    “Not much as compared to other schools,” Charles corrected. He rested his elbow on his thigh and placed his head upon his palm, his fingers resting upon his temple and the heel upon his chin.

    Magneto looked at Charles, who raised his gaze to Magneto’s eyes. They seemed to have a conversation in facial expressions, something that supposedly those who know each other very well were capable of.

    “Oh, yeah… wait, Charles, you're dating Magneto?” Tony exclaimed, suddenly putting all the information together.

    “No, I'm dating Erik. Actually, I'm shocked you kept that name, given your initial reaction to it.”

     ~~Magneto~~ Erik sighed. “Raven just told people that it was my name, and then everyone was just calling me that. It wasn't a big concern of mine.”

    “Yeah, that's how I got Iron Man,” Tony commented. “People just called me that, and it caught on.”

    Charles grinned. “But you weren't named by a young woman of questionable sobriety.”

    “Charles, there was no alcohol in that room,” Erik reminded him.

    “Do you even remember Alex? He was quite resourceful,” Charles pointed out.

    “Who are you talking about?” Tony asked. “Did you have a superhero team before it was cool?” he gasped.

    Erik nodded. “I worked with Mystique, Havok, Banshee, Beast, and a human. And before you say that you've never heard of most of those people, that's because most of them are dead.”

    “Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” Tony murmured. “And you're the only one left?”

    “The team went on one mission before it was disbanded,” Erik admitted. “Banshee and Havok went into some human war, Mystique and Beast disappeared, and I went to prison.”

     “What about the human?”

    “Oh, I don't care. She was so… generic.”

    “Erik,” Charles scolded. “Moira was a fine woman. She went back to the CIA.”

    “Beautiful. But can you just tell me if these kids are normal or not?” Tony growled. “I'm getting sick of all this question dodging.”

    “I already told you that they were special needs kids,” Charles sighed. “Do you expect them to be normal?”

    “Like what? What ‘special needs’ are you talking about?”

    “Scott can't take off his sunglasses because it hurts his eyes to have direct exposure to light,” Charles offered. “Marie is afraid of human contact. Kurt is afraid of going out in public. Dottie can't walk without excruciating pain. Jubilee is occasionally allergic to the sun. Do you think these kids would survive in regular school?”

    “I guess not,” Tony conceded. “But… why are they like that?”

    “Why do you have black hair? Why are you a genius? Why are you a narcissist? Nature and nurture,” Charles pointed out. “It isn't my job to decide whether or not their ‘problems’ are ‘reasonable.’ It's my job to help them. And that's what I'm doing.”

    “Real noble,” Tony muttered. “You're not being totally honest with me.”

    “And you haven't been totally honest with us. The earpiece gave it away,” Erik muttered.

    “I'm protecting the children. Others have made the same mistake, believing that there's something wrong with these children,” Charles explained. “I have to shield them from these people. I'm merely concerned that you may make the same mistake.”

    “I would hate to have to crush your skull,” Erik added.

    Tony crossed his arms, scowling. “Kill me and you'll have the entire Avengers team after you. Yes, that would probably even include Team Cap.”

   “Team Cap is no longer together,” Wanda said from the landing of the staircase. “Did you know that?”

    “ _Three_ fugitives,” Tony corrected. “Hey, Wanda.”

    She shrugged. “I guess he just can't reject anyone in need. That includes fugitives, right Charles? Oh, and hey, I hate you still.”

    Tony pouted.

    “You will always be welcome here,” Charles affirmed. “I promise. Unless you hurt a student. Then I might have to do something about it.”

    She laughed a little. “Like hell you would. Logan's still here. And Stark, suck it up.”

    Charles grimaced. “I'm… still working on that.”

    “Fucking how many superheroes are there here?” Tony demanded.

    “Please watch your language. One child is nocturnal and adamantly refuses to change his sleep schedule. I don't know if he's nearby or not.”

    “I am!” a kid shouted from another room.

    Charles sighed. Wanda floated down the stairs and landed silently next to Erik.

    “I've warmed up to you,” she informed him. “We have goals in common.”

    “We do indeed,” Erik agreed.

    “What, destroying all of humanity?” Tony exclaimed. “What's wrong with you, Wanda?”

    “A lot,” she admitted. “And no, not destroying all of humanity. That's not even a goal of _his_. I mean protecting my family. And helping these poor kids.” She put two fingers on her temple. “And you're afraid of us, of what we can do if you try to hurt us, aren't you?” she mocked.

    “Why are you putting your fingers on your temple?” Tony chuckled. _But she's a little too right._

    “It enhances my telepathy. Erik taught me that. I belong _here_ , not with the Avengers. Not with you and Vision, no matter how much it hurts,” she whispered. “Goodbye, Tony.” She turned around and began to float up the stairs.

    “Bye… I guess,” he murmured.

     _What a shitty visit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did just make Wanda more of a badass.


	30. What Scott told Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some negotiation goes down, and Erik and Charles play chess (as per usual).

_ Where is he?  _

    Wanda looked in his room, the kitchen, the library, the gym, seemingly everywhere in which she had seen him.

_ Oh, right. He has a boyfriend. _

__ She walked towards Scott's room (she made a habit of figuring out where his various boyfriends lived). 

    “Pietro?” she called, poking her head into the room. “Pietro, can we talk?”

    He blearily opened his eyes. “What's up?” He sat up slightly. Scott made a noise in displeasure and shifted in such a manner that he ended up with his head on Pietro's chest and one leg draped over Pietro’s legs.

    She tried. She really did, but Scott… not her favorite guy. It's not like he was  _ bad  _ for Pietro, but, well he wasn't _ good _ either. Scott was clingy, needy and, honestly, kind of pathetic. She was concerned that he would get to be like Drew. And she hated Drew. He had been possessive, overprotective, rude, and emotionally abusive.

    So she was sure as hell going to keep an eye on him.

    “Stark came last night,” she muttered.

    He nodded. “Yeah, I talked to him. Dad got super sassy and it was hilarious. Why are you wondering about it?”

    “Well, he saw me,” she explained. “I didn't expect it to, but seeing him again made me… angry.” She paused. “With the Avengers, I started to feel at home. After that stupid fight, that was destroyed. I blame Stark in part. I don't know what to do about it.”

    Peter nodded. “If the X-Men fell apart… I wouldn't know what to do. If Dad and Charles got in a fight, broke up or whatever, it would tear me in half. I like to think that we'd stick together through everything, but after what happened with the Avengers… I'm not so sure.”

    “Communication,” Scott murmured. “If people would just fucking communicate, we wouldn't have problems like that. We  _ won't _ have problems like that.”

    Wanda looked at him.  _ He isn't  _ wrong _. Weird.  _ Scott was nuzzling his face into Peter's neck at the moment, smiling a little.

_ Maybe I could grow to like him. _

__ She hadn't seen Peter smile like that in a very long time.

 

    “How was your visit?” Vision asked, brow knitted in concern.

    “Awful,” Tony admitted. “They were housing  _ three _ fugitives, all of whom were powered individuals. Charles talked with me while  _ Magneto  _ was there, and apparently they're dating, too. So Peter's dad is Magneto, and I'm pretty sure Peter is Pietro, and Wanda was there, too.”

    Vision rose to his feet. “ _ Wanda? _ You saw her?”

    Tony nodded. “And she told me that she hated me, and that she belongs with her supposed family, which is presumably Magneto, Charles, her, and Pietro, and that she's not coming back. Also Team Cap has disbanded.”

    “She… isn't coming back?” Vision asked, his voice a little shaky. 

    Tony sighed. “No, I don't think so.”

    “Do you… do you suppose she would appreciate a visit?”

    He shrugged. “Maybe. She seems different. Magneto helped her develop her powers, she floats up and down staircases, and she admitted that there's a lot wrong with her. But she seems to miss you. You might want to visit her. They might be more receptive to a guy with magenta skin.”

    Vision nodded thoughtfully. “You suspect that those three are not the only superpowered individuals within the school?”

    Tony nodded. “The special needs kids Charles listed sounded… weird. Like the kind of shit that could be the downsides of superpowers. Like the guy who  _ needed _ sunglasses.”

    Vision sighed. “Have you ever heard of photophobia? He may experience it in an extreme form. Do not assume anything.”

    Tony shook his head. “I'm suspicious. I would be interested in talking to that kid. And he's dating Pietro. Handy, right?”

    “Tony… please do not stalk Pietro's boyfriend,” Vision advised. “That is ill-advised,I would say.”

    Tony laughed. “I wouldn't  _ stalk  _ him. I just want to know about his… 'photophobia.’” He made air quotes as he said it. “Y'know.”

    “I will look into it,” Vision offered.

    “Thanks.”

 

    “You probably want our relationship to be physical, don't you?” Peter whispered. Neither of them were out of bed yet, despite it being 10:37 AM.

    “I want it to get physical when you're ready. Not before,” Scott corrected. “Ok? I'm perfectly comfortable keeping it to cuddling until  _ you  _ want more.”

    “Do you want it right now?”

    Scott chuckled. “Peter, I would blow you right now if you wanted me to. I would like you to fuck me. I want to make out with you. I want you in every way possible, but your feelings will always come first. Always.”

    Peter stared at him. “Really?” he whispered.

    Scott ran his thumb down Peter's cheek. “I swear. I want this. I want you to trust me and I want you to know how I feel about you.”

    Peter's face brightened. “Good. I thought I was the only one.”

    “You most definitely are not,” Scott replied.

    Peter grabbed Scott's hand. “Can I kiss you?”

    “Absolutely. And I want you to lead it so I don't go too far,” Scott requested.

    Peter leaned forward and their noses brushed against each other. He tangled his legs with Scott's and kissed him full on the lips. They shared quick, relatively chaste kisses. Neither of them pushed for more.

    “Thank you ” Peter's breath ghosted over Scott's lips.

    “Always.”

 

    “What are we going to do with Logan?” Erik asked, moving his pawn forward.

    Charles countered the move. “Check. And I'm not sure.” He paused. “What would you do?”

    Erik smirked. “Declaw him and throw him out into the street.”

    “Erik!” Charles scolded. He paused. “No, no, we can't do that… Jean suggested that there might be something wrong with him, but I haven't the time, energy, or will to look at it. Wanda's skills are improving very quickly. If Jean can convince her to help, the two of them may be able to combine their abilities to execute whatever they need to do. But Wanda tends to share her brother's viewpoints.”

    “So she would need to convince both Peter  _ and  _ Wanda.”

    Charles nodded. “Checkmate.”

    Erik looked down at the board. “Good game,” he said with a good-natured smile.


	31. What Jean told Wanda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean has a chat with several people.

     “So… you want me to…  _ fix _ your boyfriend?” Wanda asked skeptically.

    Jean nodded. “Something has gone wrong with him. Apparently he is experiencing the emotions and attitude of himself from several eras. I believe that it is related to his supposed time travel and missing memories.”

    Wanda paused for a couple seconds. Suddenly, she asked, “What does Pietro think?” 

    Jean cocked her head. “What are you talking about? What does that have to do with anything? Also, Pietro is  _ Peter,  _ correct?”

    “His name is  _ Pietro _ ,” Wanda scoffed. “But that's not the point. I haven't a stake in this. Pietro does. I trust his judgement.” 

    Jean decided not to push the issue regarding his name. “So I should talk to him?”

    Wanda nodded. “Convince him and you will have convinced me.”

 

    Jean entered Peter's room and found it empty. “Peter?” she called, mentally searching for him. He was easy to find; his mind was a tornado.  _ Scott's room. _

_ Do I have to convince Scott, too? _

__ She walked towards his room, preparing herself for whatever followed. Upon reaching the room, the redhead knocked on the door. 

    “Yeah?” Peter replied. “Oh, is that Jean? We don't want to see you.”

    She bit her lip.  _ If I can't even  _ talk  _ to him… well, that will be bad.  _ “Please?” she begged. “I really need to talk to you.”

    After a worryingly long pause, she heard Scott's voice. “I guess you can come in.” 

    Jean opened the door and entered. The two of them were seated on the bed and playing some kind of card game. “Hey,” she greeted.

    “What's up?” Scott asked quietly.

    She could already tell this wasn't going to go well. “It's about Logan.”

    Peter pointed at the door with a scowl.

    “No!” she exclaimed, waving her hands in front herself frantically. “Let me explain!”

    Peter looked at Scott, who nodded. “Go ahead.”

    “Well,” she began, “his mind is torn between different eras, and it's affecting his actions. Part of him is from his animalistic past, part is from a terrible future, part has seen a glimpse of a good future, and part is from the present. That's why his personality and attitude is inconsistent. Your sister can help me fix him.”

    “So you're coming to me because she's asking my opinion,” Peter finished.

    Jean pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded.

    “Scott?” Peter asked, looking at him. “What do you think?”

    Scott looked thoughtful. “Can we think about it?” he requested.

    Jean nodded urgently, feeling a little like a bobblehead. “Yeah, no problem. Take as long as you need.”

    Peter tilted his head toward the door, clearly asking her to leave. She made her way out of Scott's messy room wordlessly.

_ That went surprisingly well _

 

    “Tony Stark is planning on sending one of his people to visit us,” Charles commented. 

    “He is being rather persistent,” Erik replied, a little irritated. “Do you know who it is?”

    Charles nodded. “Another Avenger. I believe he is known as The Vision. If you've seen pictures, he is the bald man with a yellow cape, a slate bodysuit, and magenta skin. He appears to have some type of gemstone in his forehead that is the source of his power. I believe that Wanda was good friends with him.”

    “So he will, without a doubt, come in peace,” Erik concluded.

    Charles chuckled. “Tony Stark is many things, but stupid is not one of them. He would not attack a school full of children, especially one guarded by at least three powered individuals. Besides, I have heard that the Vision is very peaceful.”

    “That's good. That will be a nice change of pace,” Erik commented. 

    “Indeed,” Charles agreed.

 

    Tony rested his head on Vision's shoulder. He appeared to be somewhat upset, with pinched eyebrows and slightly parted lips. “Hey, Viz?”

    Vision looked at him. “Yes?” Upon making eye contact, Vision confirmed his suspicion

    “Do you think that Cap's ever coming home?” he asked quietly, voice shaky. 

    “I'm not sure,” Vision replied. “And I'm not confident anyone else is returning, either.”

    Tony exhaled, most likely on the verge of tears. Vision suspected as much, anyway; he was wearing the face of a mourning man. Tony had dragged Vision into his grieving a dozen times since they had left, so he knew what to expect. 

_ FRIDAY, lock everything in which alcohol is stored, _ Vision communicated through Tony's mainframe.

_ Of course,  _ FRIDAY replied.

    Now all Vision had to do was prepare for the fit that Tony was soon to throw.

 

    “I haven't seen much of you two,” Raven commented as the two entered the sitting area in which she sat.

    Peter shrugged. “We've been busy. First, I got injured, then Scott got injured, and then Logan was a total dick for a bit.”

    “I wasn't saying it was a problem,” she explained. “I'm glad you're better, though.”

    Scott nodded. He pulled up his shirt to reveal the mostly healed X on his chest. “Well, at least I'm already an X-Man. Now I've got it carved into my chest.” He said this with a smile, but it obviously bothered him.

    Peter kissed Scott's cheek. “I think it's hot.”

    Scott rolled his eyes. “ _ I _ don't think it's hot,” he disagreed.

    “Is this hot?” Peter demanded, sticking out his arm for inspection, which bore scars on top of scars on top of other scars. “Or this?” He tilted his head up to reveal a scar on his throat. “Or this?” He pulled his shirt up a little to reveal his scarred abs (a two-pack, Scott observed). 

    Scott sighed. “You have a point.” He paused. “Also, since when did you have a two-pack?”

    “He used to have a six-pack,” Wanda chuckled from the doorway. “Then he stopped working out.”

    Peter scowled at her. “You know, there's an actual  _ reason _ why I stopped working out.”

    She shrugged. “You weren't working out nonetheless. So that's why you're scrawny.”

    Peter rolled his eyes. “Очень смешно, сестра  _ (Very funny, sister) _ . You're scrawny, too.”

    She put her hands on her hips. “I'm  _ slender _ , Pietro. There's a difference.”

    Peter smirked. “I'm the one with a two-pack. You're the one with a thin waist.”

    Wanda looked at Scott. “Твой парень тощий  _ (Your guy is skinny), _ ” she remarked.

    “Нет, он _стройный_ _(No, he's_ slim _),_ ” Peter giggled.

    “Will you guys just speak in  _ English _ , please?” Raven groaned. “Why does everyone know a bunch of languages except  _ me _ ?”

    “We're  _ from  _ a nation that broke off of Russia.  _ Everyone _ speaks Russian there,” Wanda muttered. “And English. And usually Romanian, too. The only difference is that I actually bothered to learn how to read English. Pietro  _ didn't _ .”

    “No, I totally know how to read English!” Peter defended. “As much as I need to, anyway!”

    “Poorly. Your English-reading skills are poor, Pietro,” Wanda mocked.

    “Вы жестоки  _ (You are cruel) _ ,” Peter commented. 

    She smirked. “No, I'm honest.”

    “жестокий  _ (Cruel) _ ,” Peter repeated.


	32. What Peter told Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Scott have a chat.

_  Run, run, run run runrunrunrunrun! _

_     Chained down. Tied up. Stuck. Trapped. _

_     Run! Run! _

_     Begging. Pleading. Needing. Wanting. _

_     Run! _

_     Depriving. Withholding. Denying. Taking. _

_     Run… _

_     Screaming. Crying. Screeching. Yelling. _

_     Run…  _

_     Ravishing. Violating. Assaulting. Raping. _

_     … run…  _

_     Testing. More testing. More testing. More _

_     run!!! _

_     testing. _

_     Chained down. Tied up. Stuck. Trapped. _

_     Begging. Pleading. Needing. Wanting. _

_     Depriving. Withholding. Denying. Taking. _

_     Screaming. Crying. Screeching. Yelling. _

_     Ravishing. Violating. Assaulting. Raping. _

_     Testing and testing and testing and testing _

_     … i can't run…  _

_     Starved. Malnourished. Hungry. Famished. _

_     Let me run! Let me go! Let me run! Let me go! Let me run! _

_     Shivering. Shaking. Trembling. Cold. _

_     Let me run! Run! Run! Run run run run runrunrunrunrun!!!! _

_     Let me free! Break my chains! Cut the ropes! Open the door and let me free!  _

_     No one is coming. No one. I will die here, in this cell, in this cold room with metal furniture and a see-through wall and dirty walls and dirty floors. I will die among these people, the people who trap me, who keep me here, who revel in my screams, who cut me open and ravish me.  _

_     run let me run let me run let me- _

    “Peter!” Scott shouted, cradling his face. “Peter, wake up!”

    Peter jolted awake.  _ I'm in Xavier's house. I'm in my room. I'm safe. _

__ “You're safe,” Scott whispered, echoing the voices in his head. 

    Peter hugged Scott tightly around the waist, shoving his face into Scott's shirt and crying. In the back of his mind was the room, the one with the metal furniture and the dirty walls and floors and-

    “Peter,” Scott repeated. “Peter, you're safe. I promise. You're OK.”

    Peter grabbed at Scott's shirt with his fists, tugging gently. “Lie down. Stay with me.”

    Scott lied down obediently. “What do you need, Peter?”

     “You.”

    Scott interlaced his fingers with Peter's and kissed his cheek. “What do you want me to do?”

    “Well, after staying with you for about a week, I must have gotten used to having you there to remind me that I'm not back there,” Peter explained. “So, can you stay?”

_ We've been together for a relatively short amount of time, but I feel like I  _ need _ him already.  _

_     Does he feel the same way? _

__ “Of course I'll stay,” Scott murmured. 

    Peter nuzzled his face into Scott's neck, sighing contentedly. After a couple minutes of silent cuddles, Peter lifted his head to look at Scott. “Did I ever tell you what they did to me?” he asked.

    Peter heard Scott's breath hitch. “No… why?”

    Peter shook his head. “Never mind.”

    “You can tell me… if you want to, I mean,” Scott whispered.

    Peter tried to look him in the eyes before realizing that Scott had a bandage over his eyes and couldn't see shit. “You probably don't wanna hear it.”

    “Peter, if you need to talk, you can talk to me and I'll do my best to help you,” Scott reassured him.

    “They… they said that they would make us special, that they would give us superpowers. Wanda and I signed up because we thought we could make a difference, we could save our country and get our revenge. They took us in and starting doing tests. Simple stuff, like drawing blood and checking our temperatures. Then they started doing something else. They did patients one at a time. Each one took a couple hours and no one came back. Wanda and I were so scared. They took me first and brought me into this room, this room that smelled like death and hand sanitizer. They had this thing, a… wand? Spear? Staff? Ugh, I don't know the English word for it. It was long and pretty and gold with a big, glowing blue gem on it. The tip was sharp and they cut me open, right down the middle of my chest.” He pulled up his shirt to show the long, thin scar to Scott, who made a noise of displeasure and ran his hand over it. “I don't remember the rest of that test. It… it was too painful. Beyond that… it was like a detachment. Like I could just die. But I couldn't. So I didn't. I lived. That's how my powers came about. They performed the same experiment day after day, and I started getting weird symptoms. At first, it was normal, like racing heart, delirium, that kind of shit, but then it got weird. Everything would just freeze for a couple seconds and then resume. When I moved through the cell, I would occasionally, like, smack into the wall from across the room. I needed to run, to stretch my legs and just get  _ out _ of that stupid room. But they wouldn't let me. Then they took me out and chained me down and I begged them to let me go but they just kept poking needles and cutting me open and hurting me. They wouldn't stop, no matter how much I screamed. And then one of them, he-” Peter's voice caught in his throat for a second. “-he molested me. Over and over.” Peter burst into tears and he buried his face into Scott's chest.

    “Do you feel better?” Scott asked, stroking Peter's hair.

    Peter nodded. “I needed to get that out verbally. Obviously Charles knows, but I never got the release of verbally telling him everything.”

    “I'm honored that you chose me,” Scott murmured. He tenderly wiped the tears off of Peter's face with his thumb.

    “I'm gonna go to sleep now,” Peter decided. *Good night.”

    Scott squeezed his hand. “Good night, Peter. Sleep well.”


	33. What Charles told Wanda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vision pays the school a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, guys! I meant to update sooner, but RL shit went down and I just couldn't.   
> I hope the wait was at least somewhat worth it. Happy reading :)

    Peter sat on the porch with Scott, leaning against him and stroking circles into the small of his back. The sky was a rare color of cerulean with puffy clouds dotting its expanse. The sun lit up the bright green grass.

    “We should put sunscreen on,” Scott mumbled, somewhat sleepily. “I burn pretty easily.”

    Peter looked at him. “Alright. Leave that up to me.” He rose to his feet and zipped to the kitchen. 

    Erik was seated at the counter, reading  _ The Once and Future King _ . He glanced up when his son entered the room. “Hello,” he greeted.

    “Hey, dad,” Peter replied. He began rifling through the cabinets.

    “Are you looking for something?” Erik asked.

    “Yeah. D'ya know where Charles keeps the sunscreen?” 

    Erik stood up and walked over to one of the cabinets. He opened it and began searching through. After a couple seconds, he produced a bottle of sunscreen. He handed it to his son. “I'm glad you're putting this on,” he stated. “It's important.”

    Peter rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Yeah, I know. I'm not five.” He grinned at his dad. “See ya!” He dashed away before Erik could respond.

    When he reached his boyfriend(?)'s side, he found a bald magenta man in a navy blue sweater vest over a white button-up shirt standing face-to-face with the glasses-wearing mutant.

     “Hey, Vision,” Peter greeted, his voice a little icy. Another school visit? Was the stupid robot  _ really  _ going to ruin his day with Scott? Not that he wasn't spending time with Scott… all the time. No matter. It was nice outside. “How can I help you?”

    “I wish to meet with the professor,” he replied.

    Peter rolled his eyes. “What is it with you people? You think being a robot will get you response other than, ‘oh, yeah this is a school,’ because it  _ is  _ a school! All you're gonna find are students, teachers, and former students.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “Go home.”

    “I have reason to suspect that those at this school are powered individuals,” he replied coolly, his expression betraying nothing.

    “Why is this happening?” Scott asked, nuzzling his face into the crook of Peter's neck.

    Peter thought back to the picture incident. “It's Logan's fault,” he murmured into the top of Scott's head, his breath ghosting over Scott's scalp.

    “Seems like a common theme.”

    Peter pressed a chaste kiss on Scott's lips. “Yeah, he's a dick in all his forms.”

    “May I speak with the professor?” Vision requested.

    “Yeah, I'll tell him a pink dickhead wants to speak with him,” Peter snapped.

    Vision looked surprised. “Why are you initiating conflict with me?”

    “‘Cause you and Stark are annoying,” Peter replied with a scowl.

    Vision cocked his head. “You were so friendly before,” he pondered, eyes lifted to the sky. He turned his gaze back to Peter. “What changed?”

    “Maybe it's ‘cause  _ you're  _ on  _ our  _ turf without asking before showing up,” Scott suggested, his voice betraying a little venom.

    Vision turned to Scott. “I'm sorry. Have we met before?”

    He shrugged. “No, but if Peter thinks you're a dick, he's probably right.” Hey turned to Peter. “Also, he's a robot?”

    “I'm a synthezoid,” Vision corrected. “And I do not appreciate that analysis of my character.”

    When Scott looked confused, Peter explained, “He's a fleshy robot with feelings.”

    “I would define a synthezoid as an artificial life form with brain patterns similar to that of a human,” Vision offered.

    Peter rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, go away before my daddy decides to back me up and be like, ‘oh cool, he's made of metal.’”

    A look of mild concern flashed over Vision's face, which probably meant he was freaked out. “Would you at least consider contacting the professor?”

    “Oh, no, he already knows you're here. I can almost guarantee it,” Peter responded with a smirk.

    “Oh.” He looked a little downcast, as though he had been told that there was a party but he wasn't invited.

    Scott's lip brushed against Peter's ear as he whispered, “His kicked puppy look is making me feel bad.”

    Peter turned his face towards him. “Whaddya wanna do about it?” he murmured.

    Scott cocked his head. “Uhhh… we could get… ooh, let's get Mystique and say it's the professor!” Despite Scott's apparent excitement to his idea, he managed to keep his voice down.

    “Great idea.” He looked at Vision. “We've agreed that we're going to get the professor- but you have to stay out here.”

    “Thank you.”

    Peter zipped to Raven's location. “Hey, Raven, you busy?”

    She looked up at him from her seat on the couch. “No. Why?”

    He smirked. “The school has a visitor and I want you to pose as Charles.”

    She cocked her head. “... Why?”

    He shrugged. “Because Stark's people are annoying and I want to fuck with them,” he replied, still wearing a smug smirk.

    The corners of her mouth upturned a little. “Ok, sounds fun.”

 

    Should she talk to him? If she did, she probably wouldn't be able to let him go… and she belonged here. But she missed him so much! And Vision probably knew that she was there, so ignoring him would be so  _ mean _ .

    Oh, if only Vision could just stay at the mansion! But she knew that he wouldn't, because he was loyal to Stark, and he wouldn't just ditch him. And she didn't really want Stark there again. Honestly, she shouldn't have spoken to him in the first place, but she did anyway. 

    After a couple deep breaths, she pressed her fingers to her temple.  _ Where is the professor? _

_     Hello, Wanda,  _ Charles greeted.  _ How can I help you? _

_     I just needed a calm mind,  _ she admitted.  _ And advice. _

__ She felt Charles check over her mind for her dilemma.  _ Wanda, I believe that you should speak to him while you still can. _

__ Would this be her only opportunity? Or one of few opportunities?

_ It's possible,  _ Charles replied somberly.

    Well, that was that.

_ Thank you, Charles,  _ she thought before lowering her hand.

_ No problem. _

**Author's Note:**

> Physical changes-  
> Face- bullet to the face=changes to the face (yes, I realize he didn't take a bullet to the face)  
> Accent- Bullet to the throat=Broken vocal chords so he had to redevelop his voice in America, causing an American accent.  
> Hair- Trauma and/or increase in mutant powers.  
> Eyes- Increase in mutant powers  
> Speed- trauma made him faster  
> Muscles- he was forced to stay still while recovering, causing his muscles to go away because he wasn't using them. He never regained them because he never removed the bullets from his chest, making upper-body workouts painful.


End file.
